This Is War
by xXBeckyFoo
Summary: It's no secret that Hermione and Draco hate each other since they were kids. But what if someone takes it upon themselves to end their feud? Their lives spin and turn, and now they happen to be stuck in each others bodies. Things can't end well, especially not when the world's still at war.
1. Prologue

**Full Summary:** Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy have been enemies from the moment he chose what side he was on, and when he decided to make her life miserable due to the status of her blood. Now, it's their Seventh Year, but the war's still raging on outside the walls of Hogwarts. And through that, Aphrodite Venus, a special Ministry Official, is watching them carefully. What happens when she has enough of Hermione and Draco's fighting and makes a drastic decision that causes the two students to become one another?

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><p><strong>This Is War<strong>

**Prologue**

She was breathing heavily, her heart practically pounding in her chest, making a painful rhythm inside her bones as she tried to collect herself. She could feel the anxiety gripping her bones, numbing her skin and immobilizing her limbs. Cold tingles ran up her spine as a sickening feeling of panic made her head spin, making something inside her eardrums pulsate.

"Collect yourself," she whispered to herself, shaking her hands at her sides to try and get rid of the tingles of numbness.

And as she_ inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled_ through her nostrils for a few more minutes, trying to use those breathing exercises she learned when stress paralyzed her, she reached her hand forward and flushed the toilet. She watched, a little sickened and disgusted with herself as the contents that she had vomited swirled away.

Wiping her mouth off as she opened the door of the bathroom stall, she proceeded to the sink. She let the cold water run for a bit, sparing a glance at herself in the mirror across from her. She could see the paleness of her skin and the unmistakeable dark circles that were a mix of different shades of purple underneath her eyes. She looked like she'd been wrestling with Death the night before. And it had felt like it. Every night she felt like she went to battle against the silent truth that shook the world outside the curtains of her four-poster.

She gave herself another look-over, confirming how hideous she looked. She wasn't being harsh either, she knew it was safe to say she looked terrible—but as she gathered a bit of that cold water between her hands, she splashed her face and tried to push that sickness from her face. There was just no time for people to notice how horrible she had gotten, how sick everything around her had made her.

She would not let them think she was weak.

After rinsing her mouth with the water, popping in a breath-freshener that she'd stolen from someone who left their box of mints lying around in the Gryffindor common room, she fixed her curls and her school robes before heading for the door without a look back.

Making her way out through the corridor she'd always walked on, she raised her chin high; meeting anyone in the eye who glanced at her. And there was a lot of staring, a lot of contemplative glances thrown at her direction. She wanted to remind them who she was, how composed and strong she'd always been. She didn't want to give them too much time to get a full glimpse of her, to perhaps see that shadows of how sick she was when they studied her.

It wasn't a psychical sickness, after all, but she was sure her eyes would give it away; revealing things that no one was supposed to know. Despite that, the more she walked, the more she put up with the charade, the more she felt so mentally and emotionally exhausted to keep up with the false attitude. She had spent all summer long fighting, searching, studying, and planning. Her brain was fried, there was just no ounce of fight in her left.

Just before her thoughts could head down a road that she's spent all night finding an exit from, she approached the grand doors of the Great Hall and spotted two figures that were waiting for her. Once they had, they instantly stopped their conversations.

When two sets of distinct eyes peered into hers, she pulled on the best smile she could with the strength she had left.

"Morning," her voice was quite cheerful.

"Hey, 'Mione." Reaching her first, as always, a tall redhead boy gave her a fleeting embrace. He smiled at her as he pulled away, returning her gesture, but he had been just as oblivious in seeing that the brunette was faking it. She didn't blame him for that, though. She wanted him to believe it. "Good morning."

"Hermione," and next up was her other best friend, green eyes behind his famous circled glasses looking worriedly at her. "How'd you sleep?"

She_ inhaled, exhaled, inhaled_ deeply before answering. "Good, actually. And you, Harry?" Then there went her smile again, trying her hardest not to let those thoughts come up again. She knew he was worried for her, feeling her pain, sympathizing with her, but she just didn't want it.

Being quick to understand the silent brush off of his questioning gaze, Harry Potter returned his friend's smile, too. "It would have been all right if it wasn't for Ron's constant spider-nightmares. I had to sit with him for two hours before he stopped babbling and crying."

Ron frowned at his friends when they began to chuckle at his expense. "Yeah, yeah. Go ahead, laugh all you want to. _Gits_."

"Oh, cheer up, Ronald." Hermione nudged the redhead. "How about some breakfast? Will that make you feel better?"

Knowing his soft spot for anything considered edible, especially Hogwarts food, Ron allowed himself to be steered by the brunette into the Great Hall. His annoyance with them was long gone when he saw bowls and plates filled with deliciousness that he couldn't wait to sample.

As they headed to their table, guided by Ron who was tracing down a plate with his nose, Harry and Hermione were not oblivious to the looks people were giving them. Not that the students were ever discrete when they stared, but in that moment some had decided to break into murmurs as the Golden Trio walked down their path.

"Curious, aren't they?" Harry commented casually to Hermione, trying to sound calm and indifferent for her sake. "They're all wondering why we're back when the war's clearly still on outside the walls of the school."

Hermione smiled lopsidedly, dodging the eyes of some of her classmates with that curiosity Harry had spotted. "Well, all they have to know is that education comes first," she nudged him, looking up at him with that smile that was not true, "besides, you can say I forced you to complete our Seventh Year. The war could wait."

Harry chuckled lightly, but it was clear from his expression that he didn't take on the matter lightly. Instead of adding to the weight of the problem, however, Harry remained silent as he and Hermione found seats on the Gryffindor table.

Ron was seated next to Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas, stuffing toast and eggs into his mouth at the same time. He attempted conversation with his fellow Gryffindors, but by the confused expressions on the other two boys, it was clear that they weren't understanding anything the redhead was going on about.

"You'd think his mum starved him all summer," Dean said to Ron's two best friends, pulling his bowl of cereal away from the chunks that weren't being chewed by the redheaded Gryffindor.

Harry laughed, inhabiting that casualness that had been ordered on the Golden Trio. "Actually, he was a vegetarian all summer, Dean. Nothing but plants and fruits."

"A'd 'ish," Ron added between biting off multiple strips of bacon.

Narrowing her eyes at the redhead, because Hermione couldn't forget how much he complained about the tasteless fish she cooked in the summer, she picked up a direct gaze in her peripheral vision. Silver eyes, cold and hard as she'd always remembered them being, stared directly at her. Though she was also accustomed to seeing hatred and disgust in them, she saw flickers of confusion and curiosity that paralleled to the stares the other students gave her.

She raised her chin high in self-worth and self-preservation. She didn't want him to spot what she was trying to hide from the others. If he could see how the war that he was a part of damaged her, she was sure he'd marvel in it.

As they continued to stare defiantly at one another, a _ding, ding, ding_ interrupted the battle of prides.

Up ahead, where all the staff of Hogwarts sat and watched over their students during meals, Professor McGonagall arose from her chair. The old woman stood behind the golden owl podium that once belonged to Dumbledore, her beady eyes blank and concentrated on the mass of students that had all looked up at her; their attention at the ready.

"Before all of you can begin your first official day at Hogwarts, I would like to make a few announcements," and McGonagall began, her voice stern as always. "The first thing you should all know is about the security measures Hogwarts has placed all around its grounds. As we have assured your families, the castle has a vast collection of protecting spells surrounding the walls. We assure you, as well, no one is allowed in and no one is allowed out without direct access by the Head Auror helping guard our school.

"Trips to Hogsmeade have been limited this year, for reasons that all of you are aware of. Curfew will be enforced more strictly than ever, and the Forbidden Forest has been closed down by measures of our protection. It goes without saying that anyone attempting to make a detour to even the edge of the forest will be ripped apart by our protection charms."

Expecting a few groans from the students, since they were now more imprisoned than ever before, Hermione was a little surprised that no one made noises of protest. Many students frowned in a disapproving manner that the Golden Trio acted as if there was no war outside the walls of the castle, with the three Gryffindors acting as if it was another year at Hogwarts. They might assume that the holy Trio of Gryffindors ignored the war, but they very much knew it was real. They didn't protest because they needed the protection. They were all aware of the dangers lurking at every corner outside the bubble of the castle grounds.

"And lastly," Professor McGonagall spoke once more, "our school will not only be home to you this year, but also to a guest that comes directly from the Ministry."

When McGonagall announced this, a woman in a white suit stood from her end of the staff table. Hermione had to lift herself a few centimeters to get a good look at her. The woman had yellow-blonde hair, streaks of aging white mixing between those curls that flowed massively down her shoulders. Her eyes were an almost navy blue, and they were wide and rimmed with wrinkles on the outside corners.

"I am Aphrodite," the woman spoke, not allowing McGonagall to further speak for her. Her voice was low, sultry, and as if it hid more secrets than anyone could ever imagine. "Aphrodite Venus. I am here to keep a watchful eye on Hogwarts while the Ministry of Magic sees fit to end its duties here."

This time, there were groans from the students. Everyone that was old enough to remember having Dolores Umbridge in their school, trying to overthrow the system they already had, were not particularly happy with this new information.

And with her thoughts connected the same way as all the others, Hermione glanced up at Harry.

"I didn't know about it," the Chosen One murmured to his friend, knowing the question in her eyes. "Neither Kingsley nor McGonagall mentioned it when I met with them a few days prior."

Not affected by the clear dislike that she was getting, the woman narrowed her eyes and kept her face neutral. "I understand the opposition you all have with another Ministry Official invading your school," she said, "but let's be clear about one thing: I am not here to make friends or get all of you to improve your grades."

The Great Hall went silent.

"Take a look around you," Aphrodite Venus went on. "Look at your house tables, think back to your common rooms—are they not a lot thinner than what you remember?"

Harry glanced around his table, noticing the definite number of missing people in his year. Gryffindor was usually a house thundering with students, but it was hard not see the empty spots. It was not difficult for Harry to see the missing places throughout all the houses. It triggered guilt in him, but he pushed it down with the Ministry Official restarted her speech.

"We are at war. There's a battle raging outside the walls of this castle, in villages not far from here. There are people dying every day. The harsh reality is that most of those people will be someone you were acquainted with, a loved one, someone whom you once called a classmate." The woman's eyes remained without emotion, even as she spoke true words that daggered into the students' eardrums. "I am here to show you the light that none of you can see at the moment."

Ron and Harry exchanged looks at that moment, both of them skeptical and wary while Hermione remained with her brown eyes glued to that foreign woman.

"And it is with my skills that I'm going to target the worst of you," feeling a cold chill race down her spine, her eyes glued forcefully into the blue of the woman, Hermione felt like she was speaking directly at her. But as soon as she'd felt frozen, the eyes of the woman traveled to a distinctive silver pair in a different house table. "And you will really see what both sides of the war has to offer."


	2. Of Death and Enemies

**This Is War**

**Chapter One: **Of Death and Enemies

There was a clear bubble outside the grounds of Hogwarts: it stretched out with a sort of silver glow, touching the furthest ends of the Forbidden Forest with the faintest show of light. The bubble, strangely beautiful, contained all sorts of protecting spells that kept anything unwanted out. It was majestic, the amount of magic living every second to protect them, but it was also equally as depressing. Hogwarts really didn't feel like a home away from home now. Instead it was prison away from another prison. Nothing was safe. Not their homes, not the streets, not even the castle they all swore was the safest place on earth.

"Come on, Lav!" However, through the gloom that filled the atmosphere, there was still a handful of people that went along with their lives the way they always have; their teenage hormones and misfortunes running on automatic. "This is getting out of hand, don't you think?"

Aiming her furious glare away from a target up ahead, Lavender Brown flashed it to her best friend. "Nothing's getting out of hand," her blue eyes were narrowed, her voice shrill and firm, "I'm just protecting what is mine."

Pavarti Patil looked unconvinced, her face showing it perfectly. "You're not even sure if they're dating, Lavender," she sighed. "Besides, don't you think that, you know, stalking him might not earn you any points?"

"I'm not stalking him," the blonde Gryffindor informed. "I'm just…" She paused as she returned her attention to the telescope she bought in the summer from Weasley Wizard Wheezes.

Pavarti nodded at her best friend, looking at her with an expression that suggested that she was going insane. "Hermione," but then she decided to use some backup, "can you please help me out here?"

Looking up from a thick book she checked out from the library—that she'd been thoroughly enjoying until Gryffindor's two famous gossiping witches decided to join her at the bench outside in the grounds—Hermione looked skeptically at her house-mate.

Leaning a little closer to Hermione, Pavarti whispered, "Just tell her she's being pathetic, will you? You know how she was when she was with Ron. Do you want to inflict that on some other innocent boy?"

Watching a little annoyed as Lavender had her right eye glued to the telescope again, Hermione sighed in defeat. "All right." She closed her book, clearing her throat awkwardly. "Hey, erm, Lavender?"

"Granger," Lavender responded casually, adjusting the settings of her telescope.

"I know that this is none of my business—"

"Then stay out of it, Granger,"

"—but I agree with Pavarti," she completed, ignoring the blonde's previous snide remark. "You're handling this all wrong. Stalking him is not the answer; he's just going to feel cornered. Besides, Luna shouldn't be dragged into this. She's not bewitching Dean to be friends with her, you know."

Lavender lowered her weapon of observing, her blue eyes narrowing at the brunette. "We don't know that," she spoke with a tone that suggested she should not be argued with. "She's always on and on about her Nargles and other rubbish creatures. Maybe they're all code names for powerful love potions or her using the Imperius Curse. It's _Loony Lovegood_, what other reason can there be for Dean spending so much time with her?"

Looking away from Lavender for a second, Hermione looked ahead. In the distance, sitting underneath a grand tree, Hermione could see Luna and Dean talking animatedly; their books and notes of parchment on their laps. She could see why the scene was so odd to others, considering that not many people sat down with Luna, but Hermione was not an outsider and she saw the link that tied the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor together. And that kind of link came with sharing something indescribable—like being the only shred of sanity in a dark place when death threatens to come for you.

Glancing back towards her fellow Gryffindor, Hermione frowned. "Lavender, Luna is a very sweet—"

"Oh, forget it!" Lavender interjected, standing from the bench. "I don't need lectures about this, all right? I'm a mature and coherent girl. But mind my words: all is fair in love and war." She pocketed her telescope after it shrunk to a miniature size, continuing her frowning at the brunette as Pavarti rolled her eyes behind her. "And this is a whole lot of both, Granger. I'm not going to let another girl steal my man. Not after what happened with you, if you recall."

Hermione scowled at the accusation.

"She'll get over that someday," Pavarti whispered to Hermione hurriedly as she gathered her schoolbag. "Sorry for—" But her apology to Hermione was cut short when Lavender walked back to the bench and pulled her best friend by the arm; dragging her away hurriedly.

Raising an eyebrow, Hermione's gaze followed Lavender and Pavarti's figures back to the entrance of the castle. For one thing, she'd like to say that she equally disliked Lavender Brown as much as the latter disliked her, but she somehow appreciated the normality of teenage girl jealousy. It gave her a sort of feel that she was just a regular girl; not the girl who was destined and intertwined with the path that would end the war that the Wizarding World was in.

Yeah, Hermione appreciated Lavender in an odd way. Especially when she noticed Ron's ex-girlfriend elbow Blaise Zabini roughly in the ribs when the Slytherin accidentally bumped into Parvarti. Lavender might be deranged, Hermione knew that, but she thrived in being who she always was. It showed as she defended her friend and acted upon her erratic characteristics.

Before blinking back to her book, Hermione spotted a flash of illuminating white not far from her. It'd been Aphrodite Venus, the Ministry Official observing Hogwarts for the Ministry. But the moment Hermione's eyes blinked again, the woman was gone.

_There's something about that woman_, Hermione thought to herself. She just couldn't shake off this sensation that the woman had more power than what she was leading to believe. It was like some sort of magical essence, a greatness that she used to sense from afar when Dumbledore was still alive.

Ignoring that thought, she reopened her book to continue her reading, but once again the bit of the solitaire time she wanted was destroyed by a few more Gryffindors appearing before her.

"I told you she'd be here."

Glancing up, hiding her irritation, Hermione let a smile appear on her face as Ron, Ginny, and Harry stood before her. Each had the same worried glaze to their eyes that never left her.

"You're avoiding us, 'Mione," Ginny said to the older girl, her expression sincere. "I suggest, then, if you are, that you need a new hiding place. This was a piss poor attempt. We know you love to read here."

The brunette Gryffindor huffed a giggle, shaking her head at the redhead girl. "I'm not avoiding you, I promise. I just found a new book to read and I couldn't start with all the noise in the common room."

The three Gryffindors in front of her glanced at one another, knowing a little better than that. They knew well enough she was avoiding them.

"Anyway," Harry spoke before a silence pierced the air, "we bumped into Hagrid earlier, he had news about the Order."

And as the last word slipped from her friend's lips, the Weasley siblings pulled on a mournful expression; both their brown eyes looking thoroughly upset, angry, and saddened. This, like everything else, didn't go unnoticed by Hermione. Her chest tightened a little, knowing that bad news was about to come her way; just like how she'd been expecting every second they spent in Hogwarts pretending like they needed to be there.

"The Order was on a mission to capture Greyback," Harry went to explain. "They heard that he was stationed in a town in England, where the Ministry got word that muggles were found dead; allegedly killed by a wild animal."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Why would the Death Eaters put Greyback in a muggle town? His victims would just be dead; they wouldn't be able to transform into werewolves since there's no magic in their blood. It's pointless. Isn't the reason for recruiting Greyback that he create more werewolves for the Dark Lord's army?"

"It was a town in _Surrey_, Hermione," Harry added, giving her more of what Hagrid had told them. "It's not far from Privet Drive. The Death Eaters were doing what the Order expected them to do, to go after the Dursleys. "

Hermione paled for her friend. "And did they? Did they get to them?"

Harry shook his head, relief behind those spectacles. "The Order made the choice to send a few members to go remove the Dursleys from their home and others to handle Greyback. They put Remus, who my aunt remembered from my parents' wedding, in charge of convincing them to leave. The operation was going smoothly, Hagrid said. They had already managed to get the Dursleys out of Privet Drive, but the decoys in charge to distract Greyback were attacked."

"They were outnumbered," Ginny interrupted, grabbing Harry's hand sympathetically as they all noticed that it was becoming difficult for him to continue explaining; his anger and the clear grief on his face being too prominent. "Mundungus gave them the wrong count of how many Death Eaters would be in that muggle town and, well…" She paused, squeezing Harry's hand a little tighter because of what was coming next. "George lost an ear, courtesy of Snape. And…Mad-Eye died."

Instantly, Hermione placed a hand over her mouth at the same moment that tears piled in her eyes. There was that emotion again, that sick sensation of not being able to handle everything on her shoulders. She couldn't breathe again. She felt all sanity escaping her. She felt like vomiting again, like everything inside her head was spinning and spinning.

Death was cunning, wasn't it? They were trapped in Hogwarts because the Order suggested they'd be safe there for the time being, but that didn't mean that Death wasn't able to remind them that it was waiting for them out in the world. It took and took from them, no matter how much they pretended it didn't exist.

Hermione didn't let her body submerge with weakness. She stood with anger and determination invading her system. "This is _insane!_" she hissed, startling them by her tone and rage. "Death Eaters are taking over the world, and we are here worrying about N.E.W.T's?! The Order is being attacked, we are losing people, and we are just sitting here! We should have never agreed with McGonagall to come back, Harry!"

"I don't like it as much as you do, Hermione, but we have no choice. We promised the Order we'd come back to Hogwarts."

Hermione snorted at Harry's remark. "We spent all summer tracking down Horcruxes," she stopped her shouting, noticing more students emerging out to the grounds from the castle; most of them eyeing the Golden Trio like it was accustomed. "We destroyed four. Somewhere out there, somewhere we should be at right this instant, there are two more. _We need to leave._"

"—I agree with Granger, Potter." And coming round from behind the bench and the pathway were the four Gryffindors were talking, a very familiar blonde student stuck his pale, pointed face from the middle of his own little group of Slytherins. Is it was accustomed, the group of silver and emerald sneered at those with ruby and gold. "If you all left, none of us would be suffering imprisonment."

To the goody-two-shoes in front of him, Draco Malfoy knew that his words were going to enter their ears and sound like he was aiming for a fight. Although most of him _did_ want to smash all their teeth in, specifically Weasley and that disgusting scowl of his, Malfoy assumed that his words were solid enough to be said. They carried the weight of truth. After all, it wasn't hard to understand that all the forms of protection around the school were mainly for precious Saint Potter and his little crew of sidekicks.

"If you gave yourself over to the Dark Lord, Potter, we all would live a much happier life." And beside him loyally, Pansy Parkinson spoke in what she thought was assistance. "You're the reason why everyone is miserable."

At the nasty suggestion the Slytherin witch aimed at Harry, Ginny released his hand to take a step forward to the Slytherins. Ginny pulled her wand out and directed it at Parkinson's face. "You know who'd be skipping over a rainbow if _you_ left, Parkinson? Me. Granted, and most of the school. You're not particularly liked, now, are you?" The redhead held her grip tighter, noticing the dark-haired girl's fingers twitching to her own wand.

Pansy narrowed her eyes, trying to find some courage and art to keep her face solemn. After all, as much as she loathed the damn Blood Traitor, she was well aware of the paralyzing effects her hexes had on people.

"Let it go, Ginny," Hermione marched to the middle of the girls, putting her fingers around the redhead's raised wrist. "She's not worth it. None of them are."

At the Brightest Witch of the Age's comment, some Slytherins around Malfoy and Parkinson sniggered. But before Hermione could turn Ginny around, before she could be the stable ground beneath her fellow Gryffindors feet, the Slytherin Prince himself decided to speak again.

"Come on now, Granger. You're the smart one. Grab your stuff, fold Weasley and Potter's knickers, and get on out of here. Go find a place to hide before they kill you. You don't want to end up in the exact place like all your friends, do you?"

With the news about Mad Eye's death still fresh in her brain, with the knowing fact that no one was safe, more of that anger seeped into Hermione's skin. "And where would that be, Malfoy?" She turned to face him, her brown eyes digging into his silver ones like if she was hoping they would kill him. "In the cellar of your home? Where mostly everyone is being killed?"

Shutting him up, his jaw locking at the memory and the knowledge that damn witch had on the doings that happened at Malfoy Manor, Draco took a step towards her; his hatred for her and everything she was and loved burning in his stare. "Where else would you keep trash, Granger?"

The rest happened in slow motion.

Ginny pulled Hermione a step back, shoving her onto Ron as she pointed her wand towards Malfoy and shouted a spell in his direction; a jet of red light that he barely dodged as he threw himself against the grass. And soon after the Weasley girl cast the first hex, the rest of the Slytherins were fast on pulling out their own wands and casting a few of their own.

At the clearly outnumbered Gryffindors, members of the D.A appeared out of nowhere; all of them attacking back and standing their ground. Their loyalties were all with Golden Trio, their hope and faith in them shining in their eyes as they fought for them; as they shoved and attacked the Slytherins that were a symbol to the imprisonment that ignorance was.

And during that, during the battle that was going on between a huddled group of students, some teachers running out to break up the fight between Slytherin and Gryffindor, Aphrodite Venus watched from a secure distance. There was a notepad on one of her hands and a golden pen on the other; the pen barely touching the sheet of paper as she narrowed her eyes at the shove Draco Malfoy gave to Hermione Granger.

As the girl was quick on her feet, aiming a stunning spell that graced Draco Malfoy's side, Aphrodite Venus marked a clear sentence on the notepad—something that described that indefinite hatred that _was_ going to transform into something else between those two students. She'd make sure of it.


	3. Dirty and Coward Blood

**This Is War**

**Chapter Two: **Dirty and Coward Blood**  
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He was sitting at the end of his house-table, his eyes away from anything concerning him as all the noise inside the Great Hall started piercing his ears. It was a chaotic mess, just as always. It made him scrunch his noise, snort to himself at how perfectly normal everyone was hated that they did so because it was never consistent. Some days everyone was in a gloom; in others, everyone acted like it was just another year at school. It was if they all agreed to pretend like none of them were inching to death every second that passed by. They all just continued to eat, talk, laugh—no tension or any kind of pressure on them.

At the furthest end of the Slytherin house-table, he noticed a First Year girl make her way with a plate of food. Her eyes were a sort of innocent blue, the kind that one would associate with a cloudless day. As this little girl joined the other huddled group of First Years, he couldn't miss the glint of terror that was common among the younger students. Every step she'd taken, well, he imagined that she was leaving her life behind her, along with all her chance of survival.

He wasn't a sentimental person at all, that was a given, but he couldn't fight off the pity he felt for the First Year girl. When the moment came, and it _would_ come, that everyone was absolutely sure of no matter how they pretended, he knew that the little girl wouldn't stand a chance. In fact, none of they would stand a chance...

_Bang._

"Nott!" Blinking away from those doomed thoughts, Draco Malfoy saw Pansy Parkinson standing over Theodore Nott's body; a goblet firmly clutched in her hand as she waved it menacingly at him.

Laughing hysterically from the floor, his arms protecting his face as the dark-haired witch shook furiously in her stance over him, Nott said, "Oh, come on, Pans, it was just a joke."

"I don't find it funny, you idiot!" Pansy shouted once more, kicking him on the ribs with her left foot. "Keep your hands to yourself or I will rip them off and feed them to you!"

And from the floor, Nott moved his protection away from his face to reach his arms forward; holding on to each of Pansy's legs. "You looked a little tense, my love. I just wanted to loosen you up." He ran his fingers up her legs, trying to lift his back off the ground to go higher up her legs.

Clearly still not finding the situation amusing, Pansy raised her foot off from the ground and smashed it down to Nott's chest. "I—am—not—your—toy," she kicked him with every word, not moved as he was trying to push her legs away from him, huffing painfully with every hit. "Touch—me—one—more—time—"

"All right, all right. That's enough,"

"—and—I'll—_kill_—you!"

Suddenly appearing at the Slytherin table, Blaise Zabini took a hold of Pansy's waist; lifting her up and away from a gasping Theodore Nott. She struggled with him, not knowing who'd dared to touch during her current seething phase. Once she heard Zabini whisper in her ear, she stopped fighting against him.

Blaise thrust Pansy onto her seat, ignoring the frown the witch was giving him. "Cool it, Parkinson," he warned like a parental figure, "You're going to get all of us in trouble again. And I am _not_ going to go through another round of detention for you, understood?"

From the floor, after finding himself able to breathe without his ribs hurting, Nott started laughing again. "I guess she's in a bad mood," he informed mockingly as he extended his arm out to Blaise who graciously decided to help him off the floor. "I'll try again later."

The dark-skinned Slytherin rolled his bright green eyes at Nott. Zabini was clearly annoyed with his friend, as he often was due to his careless attitude and need to always cause problems everywhere he went. "I'm guessing you two aren't getting back together, right? Murder is not something to base a relationship on—considering how it previously ended, that is."

"We were _never_ together," Pansy huffed, looking insulted by the boy's comment.

"That's right," Theodore agreed after sipping a bit of water, his white face slowly easing from the red that had invaded his cheeks, "we weren't. Pansy was just trying to see if Malfoy would finally notice her if she hooked up with one of his friends. And since Zabini clearly refused to assist, I gladly to offered my services like any decent bloke would do."

Slytherins around Draco began to laugh, gazing at him with mock. He sneered at them. "Leave me out of this."

Pansy dropped her head on the surface of the house-table, muttering deadly curses that arose from her embarrassment.

Ignoring her, Malfoy turned to Blaise and said, "Where the hell were you all night, Zabini? We had things to discuss."

"Places, Malfoy," his friend responded. And by the questioning look on his face, Zabini added, "places that you don't need to worry about, okay?"

Draco glared, waving the subject off as unimportant as he stood up; shoving a letter towards Zabini that he'd gotten in the morning run of mail. "We have things to discuss," he repeated, and as Zabini grudgingly took the letter, Malfoy turned on his heels to signal that it was time to walk out of the noisy and crowded Great Hall.

Scanning the letter, ignoring the bits of Mrs. Malfoy worrying about her precious boy, Zabini felt something inside of him contract; his dark skin ran cold and tensed. Of course it would be bad news, how could they have not expected it with the world in flames outside their little protected walls?

About to turn the corner, lost in his thoughts once more, something collided with Malfoy; tossing him a few steps back. "Watch it, you bloody—" The clear and profound rage that was usual on his face was halted, his wand freezing halfway to the person he was going to attack when he noticed that it wasn't a student.

Standing there, white robes wrinkled from the impact she suffered by colliding with Malfoy's shoulder, Aphrodite Venus narrowed her eyes at the student.

"Sorry about that, Ms. Venus," Blaise muttered for his friend, knowing that with the current affairs Malfoy would never apologize to someone who was on good terms with McGonagall. "He's just clumsy today."

Draco frowned, his nose scrunching in disgust, but he said nothing.

And by the crude way his face twisted, Aphrodite Venus raised a blonde eyebrow, the wrinkles around her eyes a little more apparent. From inside her white robes, the woman pulled out a notepad and a golden pen. With one more judging look at Draco Malfoy, she wrote something down and headed away from the two Slytherins.

**X**

The Potions dungeon was extremely cold and lightly dimmed. The faint light came from a few lit candles between the spaces of the separated work tables. Usually, when they were working on their potions, so there would be no accidents with the elixirs or a confusion in ingredients, the classroom was bright with light created by the professor. Seeing as he was yet to arrive, the low candlelight and the loud chatter was clear indication that the students were going to take advantage of the momentary freedom.

All but Hermione, of course. She was desperately trying to read the book she'd yet been able to finish, but was failing miserably when she found herself surrounded by her two best friends. She loved them, she did, but, Merlin, couldn't she have a moment to herself?

"Seamus and Lavender are planning something," as soon as he'd reached the table where Harry and Hermione sat together, Ron took it upon himself to end their mindless conversation. "Something important, apparently. I heard them when I was gathering my lacewing flies."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the redhead, setting down his quill over his unfinished homework. "Is it a plan that could help me finish this Transfiguration essay?"

"Erm, _no_," Ron said, looking at the bespectacled Gryffindor like he had just lost his marbles. "But, apparently, something's up with Pavarti. Lavender was telling Seamus about it. And since it's obvious that Finnegan likes Patil, they're on a mission to figure her out. They think she's traded sides or something."

Before Harry could say anything, Hermione snorted from her seat. "You're paying attention to gossip, really, Ronald?"

"It's something that we should be worried about if it's true," Ron snapped at her. "Pavarti is constantly around us, she _knows_ things. She's heard us talking before—she's in the D.A and practically in the Order with the rest of us. If Lavender,_ her best friend_, thinks she's changed then it's a problem. I think we should look into it, that's all."

Harry and Hermione shared a look. For a moment they seemed to be carefully calculating with their redhead best friend just informed them of, but the idea was quickly brushed aside. The two Gryffindors laughed at the issue Ron presented.

"Sure, laugh it off. But what if Patil turns out to be a snitch? We're going to be in a mess," Ron added, frowning.

Shaking her head at the clear joke, Hermione sighed as she blinked back up at Ron. "Come off it, Ron. Lavender's probably saying that because Pavarti has matured a little more than her over the summer. While your dearest _girlfriend _is watching Dean Thomas through a telescope from a tower, Pavarti's being reasonable about everything else. It ridiculous that Lavender would even bring that up, what a nutter."

Ron turned a little red at the ears, looking down at the jar of lacewing flies he had gone to fetch. "She's not my girlfriend anymore," he muttered back.

Watching a little awkwardly as that subject was brought up, Harry was instantly grateful when the lighting in the room became brighter, illuminating the other tables and students in the dungeon as the door swung open.

"Sorry I'm late," Professor Slughorn said quickly, fixing his hat as he wobbled in.

Resentfully, the conversations died down and the Gryffindor and Slytherin Seventh Years took their places at their respective table. It was amusing to Hermione how instant their bored looks were brought on.

"Today we'll be splitting the potion productivity in half. Some of you will do the Blood-Replenishing Potion and the others will be doing Murtlap Essence," Slughorn said to his students.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the professor's assignment, looking up at Hermione and whispered, "Yeah, he's definitely preparing the war."

Hermione cracked a little smile, but did not say anything as Slughorn continued. "Before we begin, however, we're going to divide the class in a way that Ms. Venus suggested," his voice was unconvinced, scared almost. Nonetheless, the professor raised a hand out to point out the clear division inside his classroom. "Slytherins on the left side of the tables, you'll be paired with the Gryffindors on the left side of the table across from you. And the same goes for the ones on the right."

There was an instant boom of groans and complaints.

"Hush, hush, now," Slughorn called. "Headmistress McGonagall supports Ms. Venus' choice here, there is nothing that I can do. Now, find your partner and get started. If you do no participate, you can expect serious consequences."

Still in full-mode of complaint, the Potions students did not begin to move quietly. Everyone made their dislike apparent.

"Oh, great," Ron huffed, peeking over his house-mates' shoulders to look at the Slytherin on the right side of his table. "I've got Goyle. You know we're going to end up blowing something up."

Harry copied Ron's actions, looking over Hermione's head to look at his Slytherin on the right. "Damn it. It's Zabini," he sighed in defeat, gathering his things to head to the table across from the one he was sitting on.

Hermione gave both her boys a light-hearted wave, then looked down at her school things. She didn't bother looking for her partner because she didn't really care what Slytherin it was. Regardless, she was going to finish her potion as efficiently as possible and then rid herself of the Slytherin present.

Though her resolve was a justified one, Hermione couldn't help the shivers of uneasiness when her nose caught the whiff of the Slytherin Prince. She kept her gaze on her parchment of notes, holding tightly onto the fragile stem of her quill, trying to calm herself before bile rose up her throat. With a collective breath, the brunette's brown gaze met a cold and distant silver one.

At the clear fist the Gryffindor Princess made when she looked at him, Draco Malfoy narrowed his eyes at her in equal displeasure as he dropped his book carelessly onto the desk she was sitting on, making it thump against her own belongings. Without saying anything, he took a seat on the bench Potter had left open.

"Okay," Slughorn looked at his class warily, watching the disastrous mix of students, "the right side of the room will work on Murtlap Essence, and the left will be assigned the Blood-Replenishing Potion. Please get started now; you have an hour."

**X**

The first forty minutes of class had gone by as normal as it could with Gryffindors and Slytherins being paired together. There was the occasional insult, the shove, the snort, but most of it was subdued since Slughorn kept them all in line by reminding them that this was their final year, and if they did not pass his class, they wouldn't be able to complete their Hogwarts education.

So as time ticked by especially slow, sitting at the furthest edge of the bench as they could, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were the only pair working with dead silence. She, as it was to be expected, had split their duties for their brewing of the Blood-Replenishing Potion; talking had not been required from either of them. That is, until Malfoy noticed something in the directions in the book that he had not expected.

Before he could decide what to do, the redheaded Weasel appeared at the front of his table. "_'Mione,_" he began with a whine, sounding like an annoying puppy Malfoy would've been happy to kick on the face, "you're the expert on Murtlap Essence, can you check our potion, please?"

"I'm working on the Blood-Replenishing Potion, Ronald, and it's far more complicated than your potion," Hermione looked up at Ron, an apologetic smile on her face. "Why don't you ask Harry to help?"

"It's _Harry_, Hermione," Ron said, "he's complete rubbish at Potions just as I am. Unless you let us go and fetch his old Potions book, then neither of us is going to pass this class without your help."

Hermione frowned instantly, her eyes disapproving. "Yes, of course, because that turned out brilliant." At the heavy sarcasm tainting her voice, Ron sighed and headed back to his table where Goyle was trying to figure out what to do next.

Taking the opportunity of the idiot Weasel King's departure, Draco hesitantly turned to the brunette. "Granger," he called, his chest hurting with the deep need to hurl, "we've got a problem."

Turning to him, Hermione raised an eyebrow at the blonde Slytherin; waiting for him to continue.

He glared at her, hating that he was the one who broke the silence and she somehow marveled in that. "In order to complete the potion, the final step is for the brewer to give some of their blood."

Hermione reached the end of her side of the desk, yanking her potions book and looking at the open page of directions. And clear enough, the ferret was right: he potion needed human blood, the brewer's blood in order to be completely functioning.

"You do it," she finally spoke, turning back to her things and not facing him. "Slughorn said we're allowed to keep a flask of our potion once it's done."

Malfoy kept his glare, raising a brow at her. "And what do you mean by _that_, Granger?"

"It means you can keep both flasks after we're done."

Stubborn and easily infuriated as it was in his nature, the Slytherin did not wave his clear hatred away. "I'm not cutting myself open to pour some of my blood into a stupid potion."

Hermione turned to him, her glare matching his. "Fine, Malfoy," she said through gritted teeth, "I'll do it. I'll pour some of _my_ blood into the potion. And when the time comes that you're injured and need the Blood-Replenishing Potion, you'll be drinking my blood. Satisfied now?"

Malfoy tightened his lips in a line, disgust on his face. "I don't want your dirty blood, Granger."

The Gryffindor clung tighter to her cutting knife, her blood boiling. "And I don't want your pathetic one, Malfoy. It might have escaped your notice, but a _coward's_ blood isn't actually beneficial."

Without thinking, without managing to contain himself, Draco stood from the bench and knocked the small cauldron of incomplete potion onto her lap.

At the clear commotion, at Hermione's gasp as the hot liquid pierced through the fabric of her school robes, the dungeon went quiet.

And alike Malfoy, unable to contain her rage, Hermione's arm twitched in memory and she lifted it up. Instead of slapping him hard across the face like how she'd done in their Third Year, Hermione's hand balled into a fist and she made it collide with his jaw. The blonde boy stumbled back, a grander rage in his eyes as he pulled his wand out in retaliation.

The classroom came alive: Gryffindors got up from their places, all of them joining together and pointing their wands at Malfoy and to any other Slytherin who moved an inch to assist him.

But right before Ron or Harry could sprint forward, Professor Slughorn raised his own wand and voice. "Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy!" He was frowning now, sounding so enraged and bewildered at such juvenile behavior. "Go to McGonagall's office, both of you! You both failed this assignment."

Not bothering to gather her stuff, Hermione was the first one to turn on her heels and head to the exit of the Potions classroom. Soon enough, leaving a trail of anger and slight humiliation behind him, Malfoy followed after her.

Once outside, the door closing behind them like a giant barrier, Draco let his rage take over him as he gripped the brunette's arm, forbidding her to take another step as he spun her around. "That is the last time you ever dare strike me, Granger!" His fingernails clawed into the thin skin of her wrist. "I won't hesitate to return the gesture next time."

Before the Gryffindor could respond, turning the corner of the corridor, Aphrodite Venus' ears perked up; the voices now engraved into her head as she was quick to identify them. And as she approached silently, she pulled out her notepad and golden pen when she stopped in the shadows as the girl's voice rung.

"Do it," Hermione snapped, her eyes automatically collected tears by the sting she felt from his grip. "Hit me, Malfoy. It's what a coward would do, and we both know you're one."

By the clear way that he contracted his fingers, Aphrodite could see the young man digging deeper into the girl's skin, not moved by her discomfort. And before it could get anywhere, before he could do something he'd regret, before she could say something that would cross a line, she raised her right hand at them from the shadow.

"_Ex contemno delecto_," Aphrodite Venus chanted, watching as golden threads appeared in the air; heading towards the two arguing students, "_ex diligo odio,_" the golden lights spread around them, wrapping them with its threads, "_planto illa duos animus animadverto suum fortuna._"

She finished saying her incantation and watched silently as the golden sparks invaded their skin, their souls outlining outside their bodies; oblivious to them. And once their souls fought their way out of their respective bodies, flowing out in a smooth way, Aphrodite Venus pulled out her notepad once more as the souls entered the opposite body.

And marking another note on the paper, the woman hid in the shadows until both students had enough and they stomped their individual ways to wherever it was that they were headed. Neither of them even realized that things were about to switch up dramatically.


	4. The Swapping Game

**This Is War**

**Chapter Three: **The Swapping Game**  
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From a single line of pine trees that separated the line of the furthest Hogwarts grounds and the inch that led into the Forbidden Forest, a plump barn owl was stretching his claws on the thick branch it had been resting on. It opened its wings, which were a mix of white and a brown that could be considered on off-shade of orange, and proceeded to dive off.

Hogwarts castle was a shadow of black, no light coming from inside of it like no life existed. The sky was barely transitioning from a murky navy blue to a blast of vibrant orange as the sun was beginning to awake; barely beginning to stretch its rays of heat and send them peeking out of the collection of looming clouds.

Continuing to fly with its wings set wide apart, the small and hefty owl shot up; the wind guiding its wings and taking him straight up the outline of one of the tallest towers. And as it did so, as it was preparing to set off for its morning duty, its giant black eyes caught sight of someone on the window it encountered. And by what it saw, it stopped suddenly; suspended in the air for a tiny moment to consider what it was seeing.

Inside Gryffindor Tower, imprisoned inside the curtains of her four-poster, there was a brunette that tossed and tossed; thrashing around in tangled ruby colored sheets.

By what the owl was seeing, far more interested in what was happening to that brunette who huffed, tossed, grunted, and made expressions of pain; it knew perfectly well that in a secluded dungeon in the levels below of a castle, there was a blonde doing the exact same thing.

It knew that the dungeon was dark, no light piercing it but a tint of emerald green that gleamed with suffocation. And away from the common room, away from the leather furniture, from the dimness of it, from the lack of heat, up the stairs that led to the boys' dormitories, on the floor for Seventh Years, the second door on the right, there the blonde was.

The four-poster was rimmed with dark curtains, not allowing a single creak of light in. Tangled in emerald colored sheets, sweat on the forehead; the blonde looked in pain as he slept. He grunted, moaned in misery, and thrashed about.

Though the barn owl could only see the brunette, it knew that both girl and boy were withering the same way. Flashes of memory, echoes of words, emotions running low, recalls of boiling blood was all mixing into some sort of nightmare behind their closed eyelids.

'_Hermione Granger__—_GRYFFINDOR_!' _There was applause echoing in her head, welcoming smiles from those students with the lion crest.

'_Draco Malfoy—_SLYTHERIN_!' _The hat had barely touched his head, but he was sorted right where he wanted to be; right where he was demanded to be.

_'And you must be Miss Granger. Yes, Draco's told me all about you and your parents. Muggles, aren't they?' _They both tossed in their beds, the girl and the boy, as the memory of books and sounds of people crowded into a small shop invaded them next. They were both silent, both watching a tall blonde man sneer in an arrogant way.

'_At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent.' _She had seen him emerge out of the group of Slytherin Quidditch players; a sneering look on his annoying face as he had walked up to Harry. She turned in her sheets, remembering the way she scowled and look disbelieving that they would be so unethical as to let him in under questionable circumstances.

'_No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood!' _He groaned in his sleep, his brows furrowing as he could see behind his closed eyelids how judging her eyes were; how she stuck her nose and chin up in defense for her pathetic excuse of friends and it infuriated him.

'_He called me a Mudblood__—__it means dirty blood. Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is muggle born. Someone with non-magic parents, someone like me.' _She clutched onto her pillow, feeling the wretched feeling of a past hurt in her chest. She remembered her eyes watering, feeling appalled for herself; even a little embarrassed and ashamed of herself.

'_See the thing is, there's some wizards, like the Malfoy family, who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pureblood.' _She let the grip on her pillow loosen as she relaxed a little in her sleep, a wave of gratitude for Hagrid invading her system as she could see the shadow of his face explaining how she was no less because of the status of her blood.

'_Enemies of the Heir Beware? You'll be next, Mudbloods.' _There was blood, he could still see it clearly as if it had been yesterday; as if he was not asleep and he was back in his Second Year.

But for a second, scrunching his nose like he could still smell the blood on the marbled wall, it disappeared. A flash of Slytherin's common room crossed his dreams; Goyle and Crabbe in front of him as he explained what his father had divulged. _ 'My father did say this; it's been fifty years since the chamber has been opened__—__The last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died. So it's only a matter of time before one of them is killed this time. As for me, I hope it's Granger.'_

'_You! You foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach!' _Holding her breath, almost feeling the wind that resided outward, past the leaves of the trees surrounding them, she felt like she was making her way towards him and his stupid leering face.

He stopped fidgeting between his sheets, his heart thumping as he saw the brunette and her stupid angered face heading towards him. He could see himself, four years younger, about to throw another insult when—SMACK.

She continued to hold her breath, her heart settling in her sleep as the memory of satisfaction filled her up again; despite the painful sting of her hand. _'That felt good.'_

In that moment, in the moment that flashback of the brunette striking the blonde was over, it was like all those flashes of memory sped up and blurred. It flew past them, making their hearts bang inside their chest as many more insults echoed in their eardrums, all of it sounding faraway. Faces and expressions twisted and turned, anger and hatred scraping by them when all of a sudden a loud scream echoed inside their heads—and then, it stopped.

When eyes opened and came to life inside the Gryffindor Tower, the barn owl knew that the same thing had happened in the Slytherin Dungeons. And knowing what was going to happen next, it flew away.

**X**

Draco Malfoy snapped his eyes open, bolting upright from his bed as an echo of a gut-wrenching scream was still sounding off inside his memory.

He was heaving air now, trying to settle his heartbeat, his blood, and some sort of emotion he thought he had buried away. It was a dream—no, a series of dreams. He saw himself like if he was a third party, an outsider in every single recall of memory that took over his sleep. He could see himself from a young age growing meaner, growing angrier, and growing more arrogant. Then there was a swirl of flashbacks passing him by, and there were more emotions than anger and hatred.

"No," he breathed to himself, shaking his head and not allowing himself to go there.

In the process of trying to collect himself, to settle himself, he decided that going to wash his face with cold water would drive away what'd just happened to him in his sleep. He gripped onto the sheets, about to yank them away from his body when he stopped for a second.

His eyebrows knitted together, the material in his grasp was ruby red instead of his silky emerald sheets that his mother had bought for his dorm three years ago. And for a second, just as he was contemplating the change of blankets, he saw his hand—it was small. His hand was smaller, less pale, delicate looking, and his wrist had a woven bracelet with a Gryffindor Lion dangling down.

He shot himself backward, further into the back of the marble wall. And as he did so, he managed to kick off the ruby sheets around him; exposing his legs. His eyes widened, he was wearing purple shorts, and those weren't his legs!

_Creak. _

He stopped breathing for a second, the door of the dormitory opening silently; like someone was trying to make their way out or in discreetly and undetected.

_Squeak. Squeak._

He inhaled through his nostrils, slowly reaching out for the red curtains surrounding his four-poster and sliding it completely open. And after he did so, a single ray of sun poked itself into the dormitory from the window; giving some light to what was just shadings and outlines. Expecting to find his dorm-mates, he was startled backwards again as all that was spread on the three others beds were girls—with the same ruby colored sheets.

_Squeak_.

"Oh!" With a loud murmur, the person that was walking about the dormitory turned towards him; brown eyes looking a little surprised.

Draco frowned with all his might.

"I'm sorry," the girl breathed, taking a shaky and silent step towards him; looking behind her shoulder to make sure she hadn't woken the others. "I didn't mean to wake you up. I thought all of you were asleep."

He didn't say anything, he just watched her with a murderous glare on his face. He was about to destroy her; what the hell had she done to him?

"…I know what you're thinking," the girl sighed, noticing the frown as she began to pull off her Gryffindor robes, "I shouldn't have been out all night, especially with all that danger out there, but can you do me a favor?" And not giving him a chance to even open his mouth, the girl added, "Please don't mention it to anyone, alright, Hermione? I just had something to take care of, and I don't need Lavender asking me about it."

At that, at the way that dark-skinned girl spoke to him, at the way she looked at him like they were friends, like she was expecting compassion from him, at _what_ she'd called him, he shot up from the bed. And as he did so, as the girl before him shot open her eyes at his sudden move, he could see himself in her dark orbs.

"_Granger_!" He shouted, and launched himself towards the dormitory door.

**X**

She was sitting at the edge of her disgruntled bed, inhaling in; exhaling out; inhaling in; exhaling out in that way that she'd taught herself for emergencies like these. Which, in her irritated mind, has happened quite often since her Fifth Year; something that no one has seemed to notice but has been exhausting her.

It was anxiety, she had established that much, but containing it was decreasingly difficult every time she went into a panicked mode and her body started hyperventilating; making her go completely numb and tingly. It always felt like she was going to lose her mind, with the way her body threatened to shut itself off when she became too stressed or when she recounted the feel of evil spells on her body.

She shook her head, not letting that memory come into her mind. That scream, that memory of screaming that had transformed into a nightmare in her sleep had been that cause of her waking up like she was about to die from suffocation. No, she just couldn't think about it anymore.

She rose up to her feet, disregarding the tussled mess of her sheets that she made. And as she began walking towards the restroom, she stumped her toe on a trunk; letting out a muffled curse. She frowned, kicked the trunk due to that flicker of annoyance, and looked around her. The dormitory was darker than usual. She couldn't see her fellow Gryffindors in their beds but their shadows and the lumps of dark of their bodies. She rolled her eyes, proceeding on her way as she just figured Lavender was in her 'beauty sleep' mode and was making the entire dormitory suffer by the lack of sun.

Twisting the handle for the cold water, Hermione let it run for a few seconds as she chose to do another round of her breathing exercises. She honestly needed to figure out how to subdue her little moments of anxiety before Harry and Ron noticed them. They had been worried for her since the summer after their Sixth Year when they were hunting Horcruxes. And when they'd been caught; when she had been taken hostage by Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Enough," she snapped at herself, forbidding herself from going back to her nightmare.

Huffing once to herself, she stuck her hands underneath the running cold water and collected some of it between her palms. She bent down towards the sink, splashing the water onto her face. When the water touched her skin, she felt like an automatic distraction from all her previous distress had snapped into her; helping her with putting herself together.

After a few more splashes, she turned the faucet off. She grabbed an emerald towel that was hanging nearby, not really knowing whose it was, but certain that they wouldn't mind. She brought the towel to her face, and as she patted herself with it, she inhaled the smell of something musky; of something icy and minty. She knitted an eyebrow, pulling the towel back and examining it.

"Hmm, that's strange," she spoke to herself in a murmur, certain that she recalled that scent from somewhere. Choosing to ignore it, however, she hung it back up and turned to the mirror, deciding to start getting ready since she was not going to sleep again—

"_Argh_!" She shouted, staring wide-eyed at the glowing silver eyes reflecting off the mirror. With a frantic heart beat going off again, she hurriedly thought of a nonverbal spell and the restroom lit up with light.

Forgetting the fact that the walls of the restroom where black instead of a normal shade of marble; that every towel was emerald and had the crest of Slytherin on it instead of the fluffy towels with the Gryffindor colors; spotting razors instead of finding girl toiletries, Hermione looked ready to combust at the reflection in the mirror.

It wasn't her.

Staring back at her were silver eyes instead of her brown ones; her long curls were gone, instead she had blonde, ragged hair; she was tall; her face pointed; and her body was that of a boy's. She placed a shaking arm on the exposed chest, finally realizing that she'd been walking around in only black pajama pants.

"_Malfoy_," she hissed to herself, her dread doubling as she headed out of the bathroom in a hurry.

**X**

Neither of them knew exactly where they were going, but they both made it out of stranger common rooms and ran as fast as they could. The corridors and many floors of Hogwarts were silent and empty due to the fact that the sun was barely coming out and every student hung onto every precious minute of sleep before long lessons and annoying teachers. Their bare feet slapped against the cold floor, not looking back, not caring about anything as they continued down an unknown path they were on.

And for what seemed like five minutes of nonstop running, from either ends of a corridor, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy realized that they were about to stop by the Potions dungeon; the last place they'd spoken to one another. And from opposite ends, they spotted each other.

"—You!"

"—Granger!"

Meeting in the middle, right outside Professor Slughorn's classroom, two enemies looked ready to start a battle to the death as they could see their bodies inhabited by the person they most hated in the planet.

"What did you do, Malfoy?" Hermione shouted at the Slytherin disguised as her.

"What did _I_ do?" He snapped back at her, his blood boiling as his own face flashed hatred at him. "What did you do, Granger?"

She grunted, looking ready to kill. "Don't act innocent, Malfoy, this has evil prat written all over it!"

"Why the hell would I rob you of your body, Granger?" Draco retorted, taking a heated step that was much lighter than what he was accustomed to. But not paying any attention, or bothering to think that he never noticed how feather-like the brunette's steps were, he reached out and grabbed his own arm; gripping it tightly. "Undo whatever the hell you and your idiot friends did to me!"

Not flinching at the death-grip Malfoy had on her, due to a lack of strength that her own body had, she narrowed his silver eyes at the Slytherin. "If we wanted anything to do with you, Malfoy, you wouldn't be walking around this castle like a damn prince," she snapped. "On, the other hand, you and _your_ twisted friends would gain so much out of impersonating me. And because that's so, _you're_ the one who do this."

"I didn't do anything," he hissed at her, letting the arm go. "I woke up and was inside your filthy body, Granger."

Hermione frowned, feeling her fist twitch and ready to aim a slap to his face. But as she resisted the urge, she looked down at the hands that didn't belong to her. "…I was dreaming about you," she said to him, her voice sounding distant as if she was calculating something. "I dreamt of everything you've ever said to me," she looked up at him now, watching as her own face looked confused and slightly surprised. "It was all a blur, but you were there. And then, I woke up and I was in your body."

"Brilliant, Granger," Draco said through his anger, ignoring for the time being that they'd dreamt of the same thing. "So, your obsession with me morphed you into my body, is that it? If you desperately desired me, you could've just said so. There was no need to hijack my body."

Knowing that her own body was going to bruise, Hermione rose Malfoy's fist and punched the arm of the body he was living in. "Look, you insufferable ferret, this is a serious problem. _We're in each others' bodies! _How the hell are we going to fix this?"

But before Malfoy could say anything, there was a _clink, clink, clink_ on the marbled flooring of the corridor. And like it was déjà vu for herself, Aphrodite Venus appeared outside the Potions dungeon; this time not bothering to hide herself from the two students.

She stepped out, dressed in another set of white robes, her navy blue staring directly to the two faces mixed with panic, confusion, and a lot more fear. "Isn't it a bit early to be roaming the castle?"

Hermione cleared her throat, feeling this twinge of a lulling pull towards the woman; like her magic was pulling Hermione in by every blink she gave to her. "Forgive us, Ms. Venus—" As she said this, at the words she had said, Hermione could only hear Malfoy's voice bounce off the walls. "…We, erm…We were just discussing our, erm, final Potions project."

Taking a step back from the woman, hating that sense like her aura was powerful and throwing him off, Malfoy gave the special Ministry Official a blank, rude look. He wasn't going to explain himself to her, she was nobody.

Ms. Venus raised an eyebrow at the brunette, not looking stirred or irritated by the arrogant look on the girl's face. "I suggest you wrap it up then, Mister Malfoy. You two ought to head back to your own common rooms."

And right before she could take her cue and leave, the woman pulled out her notepad and a golden pen from the inside of her robes. She flipped open to a page, casted a final look at the Slytherin and Gryffindor, wrote a single line down, and then made her way silently.

"Granger," Draco hissed, calling the girl as his own eyes that she controlled followed the woman. "We need to figure something out soon. We can't be in each others' bodies for another bloody second, alright?"

Hermione turned to him, giving him a scowl. "Obviously, Malfoy. You didn't think I'm going to let you walk around in my body just because, did you? No." And then she sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "We're going to have to spend most of the day as one another until—"

"I am not going to be you in public, Mudblood!"

Hermione's anger kicked in to full gear. "You're going to have to!" She yelled at him, no longer being able to contain herself. "You're going to go back, figure out a plan to pass as me for the time being, and at dinner, you're going to meet me in the library!" And with the borrowed strength of his body, she pushed him back threateningly. "Do you understand me, Malfoy?"

Wincing, Draco took a cautious step back from the Gryffindor; hating the fact that he was some sort of sensitive to pain now that he was inhibiting the girl's body. "Fine," he growled at her.

"You're going to have to know a few things first…."

And as Hermione gave him the password to Gryffindor Tower, Malfoy nodding forcefully at her, Aphrodite Venus pulled her back away from the shadow the corner of the corridor gave her; where the two students thought she had disappeared and left. She smirked to herself, the games were about to begin and they were going to figure out the toll the swap was going to bring onto them.

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><p><strong>AN: Hello, my lovely readers! Hope all of you are doing great.(:<strong>

**Anyway, before this story could progress, I would just like to point out that it's going to be a little AU. In this story, they are legit in their 7th year. Which means that the hunt for Horcruxes that happened that year, actually happened during the summer after their 6th year. Dumbledore's dead, Snape's with the Death Eaters, and the Golden Trio still has to find two more Horcruxes before Harry could taken on Voldemort.**

** And on that note, I'm off! **

**R&R(:**


	5. God and the Devil

**This Is War**

**Chapter Four: **God and the Devil**  
><strong>

Other than the many of the obvious reasons of why he didn't understand Muggles, the way they lived or how they managed to get by, one main thing that puzzled him was the concept of God and the Devil.

He once heard a muggle-born talking about the Devil, about how he had committed a sin and he was going to go straight to hell without this God forgiving him for it. He didn't know what exactly the muggle-born was talking about, but he had to search for it. And search for it he did.

For most Muggles, religion is important. It's their belief that there's a balance between Good and Bad, between Light and Dark. God is the person that lives in Heaven, that created them and that watches them from above. He's the ultimate being. He's the one with power to save you, your soul, and the ones you love. Now, the Devil's the exact opposite. He's the one that drags you down, that puts you down roads of temptations that make you want to break every rule religion says goes against God. He's the prince of darkness, the one that could kill you without chance of mercy.

So, as he's sitting on an armchair, surrounded by people that annoy him and that he'd hex without a second thought, Draco Malfoy is certain that the Muggles' God is punishing him for sins he's committed; letting him suffer in silent misery as penalty for them while the Devil laughs in the background.

"So, what do you think?"

Blinking away from his internal cursing, Draco raised an eyebrow that wasn't his; his eyes looking at a redhead with a brown that weren't his either. "…About what?" He managed to say in a Granger-like tone.

The Gryffindor redhead un-tucked her legs from beneath her, sitting upright on the ground by the fireplace where she had several parchments scattered around her. "About the ending paragraph for my Herbology essay. It's due next hour, remember?" But as the brunette witch didn't respond, the redhead raised an eyebrow. "Where's your head, Hermione? You've been looking distracted since breakfast."

Swallowing a retort about how she should mind her own damn business, and how her essay was none of his concern and the fact that she depended on Know-it-All Granger to deem it acceptable was pathetic, Draco shrugged his shoulders. "Just tired," he responded, knowing that that was the best explanation.

However, not counting that the redheaded girl was far more attuned to Hermione's way of being, Ginny Weasley narrowed her eyes at the person before her. "You've been ill, haven't you?"

Again, Draco raised an eyebrow that wasn't his; his external confused expression was that of Hermione Granger's. Sweet and warm—something he wasn't.

"I know that we promised never to bring the subject up, Hermione, but I think it's necessary," Ginny said to her friend, looking worried. "I know that you're trying to handle what happened on your own, maybe for Harry's sake, but you—"

But just as Malfoy was edging towards the end of the armchair, unwillingly interested with what the Weaslette was about to bring up, a group of Gryffindors tossed themselves onto the couch beside his armchair; disrupting everything.

"Bloody Slytherins," Dean Thomas grumbled first, leaning back tiredly on the couch.

Forgetting all about what she was going to divulge, Ginny threw a questioning stare at the boy. "What did Malfoy do now?"

In his seat, disguised by a terrible joke as the Brightest Witch of the Age, Draco narrowed his eyes at the redheaded girl.

"It wasn't that git," Thomas snapped, looking properly disgusted by the name—which certainly had to do with the fact that he'd been imprisoned in his cellar the past summer. "It was Zabini and Nott."

"Dean and Seamus got rallied up because Nott knocked me towards the ground," and in the group that'd joined his torture hour as Granger, Draco saw Pavarti Patil sigh in the same exhaustion Thomas had. "I would've said it was an accident so the boys would've let it go, but it didn't help that Nott threw his stupid 'Blood Traitor' comment at me when he did so."

Ginny shook her head, looking annoyed. "Where's Seamus in all of this?"

And to her question, Neville Longbottom answered for her. "Well, you know Seamus, Gin. He really gave Nott a go for his comment towards Pavarti. He's the one who actually started the fight. Ms. Venus showed up, and for Finnegan's ruddy luck, she took him and Nott to McGonagall."

"It was sweet." Aiming a smile at her friend, Lavender voiced her opinion. "He fancies her. He started a fight with a group of barbarians to defend her."

Pavarti scoffed something underneath her breath, crossing her arms indignantly.

"Don't _you_ think its sweet, Dean?" Not paying much attention to the girl beside her, Lavender flashed her eyes towards the dark-skinned Gryffindor. "You'd do that for any of us—for me, right?"

"As much as I'd like to hex some of those Slytherins, I think it's foolish to waste our time in detention for them. We've got more important things to deal with," Thomas responded, shrugging to himself as he lifted himself from his seat. "Anyway, I'll see you lot later. I promised Luna I'd meet her at the library, and I'm late."

Lavender looked instantly appalled, her eyes wide with outrage as the boy gathered his schoolbag and headed towards the portrait-hole.

Clearly amused by the look of complete horror on the blonde's face, Pavarti aimed a smirk at Hermione; giggling silently. Draco narrowed his eyes at the girl, not knowing, or caring for that matter, whatever joke she had with Granger at Brown's expense.

"This is outrageous," Lavender huffed to herself. "I can't believe I'm being out-charmed by that stupid, insane—"

"Oi, watch it." Glaring at the older girl, Ginny crossed her arms in a wave of defense and irritation. "That's my best friend, Lavender. I suggest you shut it before I shut it for you."

Lavender rolled her eyes, not intimidated. "I think," she began, looking towards Hermione with a solemn expression, "that you should find out what Lovegood's intentions are with Dean, Granger. Mind you, you do owe me after all."

Since Hermione's body was being inhabited by Draco Malfoy, unknown to those she called friends, Draco made Granger's face ignite in deep fury. A glare that was so famous on _his_ pale, pointed face that it silenced the annoyingly dramatic Gryffindor girl in an instant.

"Alright, Lav. That's enough hatred for today, don't you think?" Pavarti stood from the couch as well, gathering her books as she flashed a parental stare at her best friend. "You've made it all morning without going into a fit, don't ruin that."

Without saying a word, her face twisted into an infuriated scowl, Lavender left the common room with her friend. Leaving only mutterings of curses and insults behind her like a little girl told to go to her room after no one gave into her tantrum.

Watching them go, Draco crossed his arms in a silent huff. How could muggle-born Granger handle all this? How can someone with her brain possibly stand being around dramatic girls, incapable redheads, begrudging muggle-borns, and annoying Gryffindors? It was beyond his reasoning how she managed to do it—how _he's_ managed to do it half of the day already.

But interrupting the little moment to reflect on his thoughts, after his ears perking up to a "you should just tell Lavender, Neville. Maybe that way she'll stop threatening to murder Luna," from the She-Weasel, Malfoy frowned into further irritation as Potter and his sidekick joined them by the fireplace.

"Well, it's about time we find you, 'Mione," Harry said to his friend, smiling dimly at her as he put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You've been avoiding us all day. Is something wrong?"

Malfoy inhaled through Granger's nostrils, trying to keep his witty Slytherin remarks to himself. "Just tired," he repeated again, knowing that was always a safe-proof statement. "Honestly," he added, trying to be reassuring as the boy didn't budge.

And just like with Ginny, Malfoy didn't count on the fact that Potter wasn't a daft idiot and he knew his best friend well. But being a boy, Harry let it go without another thought; just an appointed look.

"Nevermind that now," Ron cut in, "we've got news from the Order."

Harry frowned at his redheaded best friend. "Nicely put, mate. Couldn't you've waited until the coast was clear?" Looking around the common room, noticing a few younger students around, Ron stared apologetically. "Anyway," Harry said, ignoring the redhead and flashing his eyes to the brunette in the armchair, "Kingsley found out that the Ministry has been infiltrated."

"That's the information?" Draco huffed, making Granger look indifferently at her famous bespectacled friend. "Come on, who didn't know that? It didn't take a genius to figure out that by now the Dark Lord snuck in more Death Eaters after your stunt last summer."

Harry raised an eyebrow at Hermione, a little surprised by her uninterested tone. "Erm, right," he cleared his throat. "We obviously knew that things were going to get worse after we broke in, but that's not the point, Hermione. Apparently there's some type of information in one of the departments on how to strip Hogwarts from all its magic."

On that armchair, fading from bored to a little bit curious, Hermione stared back uneasily at Harry Potter. "But, the Aurors and McGonagall are keeping the castle safe. All the wards, they're all created inside. How can they strip it from the Ministry?"

"You'd think that because she reads _Hogwarts: A History_ every bloody month that she would've known the answer to that," Ron scoffed under his breath, looking smug at the confusion on the brunette's face. But as the witch started pulling on a furious glare, Ron was quick to add, "The castle has its own magic, 'Mione."

"Which means, if they could find a way to break the center of all the automatic magic from the castle," Neville looked up towards the Golden Trio, making himself noticed as he and Ginny blended out from their view, "the Death Eaters could get in?"

Harry nodded solemnly at that, looking frustrated as he blinked his green eyes back at the brunette. "Remus said they'll keep us informed in case we have to prepare for a fight if McGonagall can't properly secure the castle's source of magic."

"Harry, let's say the Death Eaters…." Whatever it was that Weaslette was talking to Potter about, Draco no longer heard it. He instead melted into the Gryffindors' armchair, thinking to himself for a slight second. And for that little fraction of time that he wasn't cursing and damning Granger to her most painful death, or contemplating whether this God that belonged to the muggles was actually punishing him, Malfoy's head sprouted a flicker of an idea.

If, for the time being, he couldn't get out of Granger's body that meant that he had an open pass to direct information from Potter; from the Order. Information that he could use for his benefit, for his side.

**X**

Something was punishing her, she knew it. Something was out there, whatever or whoever it was, and it was making her suffer on purpose. There could be no other explanation to why she'd woken up in the Slytherin Dungeons; to why she'd splashed water on a face that wasn't hers; why she'd spent the past four hours walking around as Draco Malfoy; and why Madam Pince had taken the morning off and closed the library when she desperately needed to rampage it.

She inhaled, exhaled—she was about to go into a frustrated overload, she could feel it. Her mind was a mess. Every thought, every bit of knowledge, every sentence that she'd read on an informational book was twisting and twisting. It was all becoming a giant knot in her head, nothing making sense as it just rolled and rolled painfully together. She couldn't remember if she ever read of curse that could do this to people; she couldn't remember if she ever encountered a reversible spell for this type of situations; or if there was a potion or ingredient that could do this to them.

Nothing. She couldn't pick out one single word from her mind to save her life.

And at that horrific realization, Hermione felt her chest tighten. She could feel her airways close up, she could feel her heart thumping too fast, and she could sense her blood slow, her fingertips going numb. She was in a full-out panic now.

Reaching out to loosen her tie, she was pushed into further chaos as she remembered that the tie circling around her neck was not that of the Gryffindor colors, but a haunted and damned silver and emerald.

"Oh, God," she breathed to herself, tugging the cursed tie and loosening it up. How could this happen to her? How could she be trapped in Draco Malfoy's body?

But just as she could feel herself go dizzy, her vision starting to develop black spots of panic, a hand slapped against her back roughly. "There you are, mate." And looking down at her, the bright eyes of Blaise Zabini startled her.

Not being able to respond, her throat still tight, she just managed to give a single nod at the Slytherin boy.

"You've been secluding yourself again, Malfoy," Blaise said to her, not suspecting once that the outer-shell he was talking to was indeed his friend, but the inside was the girl they all hated, he sat next to her casually. "You left the common room early, you sat by yourself during lessons, and now you're spending our break hidden underneath this tree."

At that, Hermione blinked. She looked away from the dark-skinned Slytherin, looking at her surroundings. A little surprised of how she'd gotten to the hill that overlooked the Black Lake, she inhaled some of the pure oxygen desperately.

Blaise eyed his friend, watching the blonde just inhale, exhale, and inhale forcefully; like he'd been running out of air. But knowing that the clear silence that he was getting from him meant to shove off, Zabini decided not to bring his seclusion up anymore. "Anyway," he cleared his throat. "Heads up, we might have some trouble with Gryffindor during Potions."

Hermione snapped her neck towards the Slytherin next to her, making Malfoy's face transform into an expression of curiosity and concern. "What? Why? What did Malfoy do?" Zabini raised an eyebrow, staring back at her in confusion. "I mean," She coughed, feeling incredibly stupid, "what happened?"

"Theo happened," Blaise said, still looking skeptically at the blonde Slytherin. But even though he looked wary, his bright eyes also flashed a shade of annoyance and a flicker of anger. "We were leaving the Transfiguration classroom and some Gryffindors were passing by. And, you know how it is, mate. At our automatic sight of one another, glares and muttered insults are exchanged."

Hermione snorted. "Typical."

"Yeah, well, Pavarti Patil accidentally bumped into Nott, and he took it like the girl had blasted his wand off," the Slytherin ignored her comment, his eyes suddenly lost in some thought. "The idiot should've counted on the fact that, not only did he push down a Gryffindor, but that she was a girl. Not a second later did Finnegan start a fight that's not going to end anytime soon."

"Well, Nott's a complete idiot," Hermione said, rolling her eyes in annoyance. "And, honestly, Seamus is an idiot too. I mean, it's understandable that he fancies Pavarti and all, but in these times there's no need to get into trouble. There are more important things to be preparing for."

Zabini kept his skeptical expression on, frowning a little now. "Forget about Finnegan and Patil's love life right now, alright, Malfoy. What the hell are we going to do about the bloody Gryffindors coming after us?"

At the clear fact that this was bothering the boy _too_ much, Hermione said her first real Malfoy thing. "Why are you so concerned, anyway, Zabini?" Her tone was riled, slightly suspicious even. She didn't interact with any Slytherins, but she wasn't stupid to not know that they enjoyed the quarreling with Gryffindor. It was their means of entertainment, after all. "Who the hell cares about the Gryffindors and their need to save damsels in distress?" She also said, finding that she was now a little in character as her part as Malfoy.

Blaise released a little of his frustration out to the open air, trying to inhale some composure as his friend now eyed him carefully. "Normally, I'd enjoy the bickering, but I don't have the mind for it right now, and you know that." He looked at Malfoy, his face solemn and emotionless now. "After what your mother said in that letter, Malfoy, do you honestly think I have it in me to be watching my back every second? I've got to figure out what I'm going to fucking do."

Hermione opened her eyes a little, surprised by the clear aggravation on Zabini's face. "…And, erm, what have you figured out, Zabini? About your situation?" Her voice was low, trying to play it out as she now felt curious. What did Mrs. Malfoy tell her son that involved Blaise? And why did it have him hanging on a ledge?

"I don't know," the dark Slytherin whispered, sounding so weak and tortured for that poised boy Hermione had always seen walk through corridors. "…I don't know, mate."

Wanting to reach out for his hand, to squeeze his fingers in a sense of support, in a way of comfort like how she always did for Harry when he was on the brink of a meltdown, Hermione closed her hands into fists. She couldn't act on her natural compassion for people, not as long as she was in Draco Malfoy's body.

And almost like there had been someone listening to her thoughts, a Slytherin witch approached the two Slytherins in the hill; coming in a form of an unwanted rescue. She walked with her arms crossed, no expression whatsoever on her face as the wind of the day made her dark hair flow behind her.

As she looked at Blaise, trying not to, she could see a shadow slithering on the blades of the grass. Raising an eyebrow, Hermione turned away from the Slytherin and his gloom to find a pair of black eyes staring at her. "Parkinson?"

"There you are," the witch huffed, crossing her arms. "Where have you been, Draco? We had a project to work on, remember? I waited for you at the bloody library for an hour."

Hermione frowned, making Malfoy's face look displeased. "I lost track of time, alright?" She said in her best arrogant tone. "We'll just work on it later."

Pansy frowned back for a moment, but as she remembered Draco sulking in the background, his silver eyes looking defeated all morning, she sighed in resignation. "Forget it, alright, Draco. I'll finish it."

On a normal circumstance, Hermione Granger would've _never_ allowed anyone to do the entire share of work that was meant to be a group effort, but seeing as she had to solve the pending question of how the hell she and Malfoy had swapped bodies, she let this one go. There was no way she was going to make time for Parkinson in her hectic life. "Sure, thanks," she mumbled.

"No problem," Pansy flashed the blonde Slytherin a smile. "But, anyway, you two need to get yourselves up. Potions starts in ten minutes, and there's no way we are going to make it in time."

As she began to stand, collecting Malfoy's schoolbag off the grass, Hermione's attention was on the shadow of Zabini heading back to the castle with the cloud of confusion following after him. And right as her brain was thinking about doing the human thing, about trying to figure out how to help him while she was stuck in his friend's body, she didn't notice when Pansy had wrapped her arms around her waist.

Just as Hermione was about to push the girl away, just as she looked appalled that Parkinson was too close to her, the Slytherin witch lifted herself on her toes and pressed her lips onto her.

_Oh, God, no!_ Hermione's brain screamed. She needed to get out of Malfoy's body as soon as possible; preferably before Pansy Parkinson decided to do more than kiss and she was raped in a boy's body.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Wala!<strong>

**Well, I know there wasn't any Dramione in there, but that's what the next chapter's for! Haha. **

**Anyway, I hope you liked it. It was a bit pointless, but I sort of needed to get it out of the way. It sort of indirectly gives you an insight of what's about to happen xD**


	6. Fights and Fake Blood

**Note: I just want to quickly remind that the hunt for the horcruxes, for my story's sake, took place after their 6th year. So up to the break into Gringotts has already happened, and the rest I'm molding to fit the story.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>This Is War<strong>

**Chapter Five: **Fights and Fake Blood

In all her years of being best friends with Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the number one target of any dark wizard or witch, Hermione Granger knew that the concept of time was not to be taken lightly. Every hour, every minute, every second was precious. Every moment of time held valuable information that could be deadly or save them all for another day to come.

Time was not to be messed with, meddled with, or wasted. Time, to them, to those ferociously loyal to Harry, was almost like an analogy of sand seeping through the cracks of your fingers. It was quick, swift, and speedy like the wind. There was not one moment of all those years that Hermione did not blink and wondered where Time had gone.

But now, now as she was viciously morphed into the Slytherin Prince's body, Time was being a bitch and taking its time to get the show on the road.

She blinked up from the parchments of homework scattered on her table, looking towards the magical clock hanging on the wall ahead of her. Two minutes had passed since the last time she checked. And two minutes ago, like the past few hours she'd managed to walk in Malfoy's shoes, literally, she wanted to kill herself.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Looking away from the clock that was not budging, that was dragging painfully slow its second hand, Hermione narrowed her eyes at the dark-haired witch in front of her; tapping her finger loudly on the tabletop. "I can't believe we _almost_ had a free double Potions," Pansy sighed in annoyance, forgetting all about the work in front of her. "But, of course, leave it to the old hag McGonagall to come swooping in and telling us to use the four hours to study for our N.E.W.T's."

Next to Pansy, Daphne Greengrass, a girl with luscious blonde hair and intimidating eyes, scoffed at the girl's comment. "There should be no complaining on your behalf, Pansy. From your poor marks last year, you need all the time to study in order to make it out of here in a few months."

"Oh, precious, precious, annoyingly brainy Daphne," Pansy spoke with her voice thick in irritated sarcasm. "Can you please take your righteous attitude and move it to the Ravenclaws at the other end of the library?"

Hermione blinked away from the two girls in front of her, her eyes darting past them and onto the clock on the wall behind them. And as she did so, she noticed the aisles of books, the students gathered in circled-tables and studying together. She knitted her eyebrows, frowning to herself. Not only was Time torturing her, it was also messing with her concentration.

"Forgive me if I'm actually smart enough," Daphne Greengrass retorted back to the dark-haired witch; making Hermione look back at them. "Or what is it, Pansy? Are you counting on the school to blow up once the Death Eaters manage get in, just so you won't have to bother with your education?"

Pansy looked instantly enraged, her dark eyes impossibly darker. "Why do you _always_ have to bring that up?" She hissed at the Slytherin witch beside her.

And despite the anger on Pansy's face, Daphne did not budge. "Because you're the one who can't wait for that moment," she hissed back. "Because you seem to be under the diluted idea that once that happens, you'll be spared and treated like the princess you wish to be."

"Seems to me, Greengrass, that you're implying I'm going to be killed," the dark-haired witch retorted, her pug-face still aggravated, but something changed in her eyes. "Because if that's _your_ diluted idea, then I suggest you revise it. Who do you think will go first? Me or you—the Blood Traitor?"

Hermione's attention was far away from the clock now as she stared shockingly at the two Slytherin girls.

"Under your definition, Parkinson, what makes me the Blood Traitor?" Daphne continued the fight. "The fact that my education is far more important to me than wishfully waiting for Death Eaters to come and rescue me? Or, perhaps, it's the fact that I've chosen to refrain myself from picking a side, alike my family? Is that what makes us enemies?"

And just as Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass were glaring at each other, with something that wasn't quite a full-on hate, Hermione saw herself enter the library. She saw her small body gliding through the aisles of tables, a sort of whoosh to her step like she was a furious tornado on a rampage.

She carefully reached for a compact mirror Pansy had pulled out an hour or so ago when she started complaining about pimples. And as she did, just as she slid it on the surface of the table, she looked down at the small, circular glass and found grey eyes staring back at her.

_Of course_, she thought to herself. She wasn't in some sort of trance—a very bad one at that—and the realization that the Hermione Granger scowling with fury a few feet ahead was the owner of the body she was currently in.

And as they locked eyes, the borrowed silver she currently wore and the brown that were robbed from her, Hermione nodded. Clearing her throat, trying to find her Slytherin within, she slammed her fist over the compact mirror; startling the two witches in front of her.

"Will you two shut the hell up?" Malfoy's voice rung between the table Hermione was sitting in, coming out of her lips. "Fight and glare at each other somewhere else! I need to study, and I'll hex both of you without a second thought if you keep talking!"

Pansy and Daphne widened their eyes, a little skeptical and surprised. And though in that moment Hermione thought it was because of the angry hisses she'd thrown at them, she didn't realize that the two Slytherin witches gaped because Malfoy hadn't shouted or filled himself with rage since their Fifth Year. Not since he'd been ordered to kill Dumbledore, and definitely not after the events that happened in the previous summer.

"We…err…We'll just be going then," Daphne said hesitantly, suddenly no longer upset with Pansy as they both collected their things and she threw the dark-haired girl a knowing stare.

Not bidding him a farewell or a look of questioning, especially since she'd snogged him earlier, Pansy rushed away with Daphne. Now leaving the girl—or boy, in that cursed moment—alone as the Brightest Witch of the Age quickly took the seat Pansy had left.

"Please tell me you weren't having a heart to heart with them, Granger." Dropping some things on the tabletop that were Hermione's but that he'd been carrying around all day, Draco Malfoy narrowed his vision at himself. "You might still be a girl inside there, but it's me. I don't have counseling sessions with my house-mates."

Hermione frowned at Malfoy, loathing the way he was making her face twist like the devil was inside of her. "It took you long enough to get here, Malfoy. What were you doing, eating the entire feast?"

Draco's annoyance suddenly leveled up another step. "No," he snapped, "I didn't even get a chance to eat. Since there were no Potions, your bloody Gryffindors dragged me to your common room so you could check their homework. After that, it was impossible to get out of their sight. I had to fake menstrual cramps to dodge Weaselbee."

Not really hearing Malfoy's complaints fully, Hermione remembered what Zabini had said when he found her. (Well, when he found 'Malfoy'.) "Hey, Malfoy," she looked up at him, ignoring the rambling he was still doing; making him raise a brow, "I need you to do me a favor, while you're in my body."

Malfoy said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

"You're going to have to talk to them, the Gryffindors," she said, feeling a little nervous despite herself.

"About what?" He asked with boredom.

"You need to convince them to lay off the Slytherins. And when you do it, make sure you say it like _I_ would. Don't command them, don't shout at them. Just use the fact that we can't afford getting into trouble right now. Tell them…Tell them they're supposed to be practicing. Simple as that."

Keeping the bored expression, Malfoy said, "and why would you want me to do that, Granger? So you won't have to hex one of them once they decide to attack the Slytherins?"

"So they'll leave Zabini alone," she snapped at him. "I don't know what's exactly going on with him, but I know that he doesn't need the stress of a stupid rivalry to add to his problems."

Instead of hearing a crude remark slip past her mouth, Hermione watched from Malfoy's body as he kept her mouth shut for a moment. And after a tensed second past, he said, "…Have you found anything about what happened to us?"

Dragging air into her lungs, Hermione turned to the empty chair beside her. "I didn't have much luck," she said firmly, grabbing a book she had hidden underneath it. "Turns out the only thing that comes close to a body-switch is the Polyjuice Potion."

"But Polyjuice Potion allows someone to turn into someone else for an hour," Malfoy replied, looking upset once more as Hermione was flipping through her thick book. "Our souls left our bodies and swapped with one another. And it's been more than one bloody hour!"

"Souls," Hermione scoffed, "like you have one." She rolled her eyes, glancing down at the single page of information she managed to find that somehow came close to their current mishap. "I know it's completely useless, but, honestly, the Polyjuice Potion is the only thing that relates to what happened. And since we've established that it can't be the answer to our situation, I want to say it had to do with the potion we were brewing in Potions."

Malfoy snatched the book from his own hands, staring down at the page she'd been reading. "As dense as that sounds, Granger, I think you could be right." He glared at the explanation of Polyjuice Potion on the page. "There might have been a faulty ingredient or elixir we were exposed to that lesson."

"We need to tell someone," straightening herself on her chair, Hermione kept a hard expression on as Malfoy flashed her brown eyes back at her; making them look apprehensive. "We've to go to McGonagall, or even Slughorn, Malfoy. We need help to fix this."

Draco tensed immediately. "Are you mental?" He snapped at her. "We cannot tell anyone about this."

"Why not?" Hermione hissed back. "I don't have answers or solutions, Malfoy. We're screwed here, in case you haven't noticed. _We need help._ I'm not going to spend any more time as you if I can help it."

_Slam._ "I said no!" Draco glared roughly, keeping the hand he slapped on the surface of the table still and hard. "What do you think they'll do to me once you tell them? You seem to be forgetting that the staff of this bloody school has taken an oath to report any single mishap that's happened to the parents of the students."

"Oh, well of course!" Hermione huffed indignantly. "Let us waste more time—let _me_ waste more of my precious time just so your mummy and daddy won't find out that you've become undesirable muggle-born number one!"

And as quick as Granger's irritation had sparked, as quick as her angry words left the mouth she'd taken from him, Malfoy felt his own fury double. "Why the hell does everything have to be your way?" He could feel his anger vibrate with his mind, but it was her hands the shook with his fury. "My home is currently used by You-Know-Who, in case you've forgotten! If they inform my parents, it's informing him! Do you even realize what that can mean, Granger?"

Looking a little startled—feeling startled—by some kind of flash of fear that Malfoy had accidentally slipped out, Hermione did not notice when three bodies made their way towards her and Draco. Having had heard their ruckus from their individual places in the library.

"Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy," Appearing before two Gryffindor boys that sprinted towards the circled-table at the end of the library, Aphrodite Venus stared pointedly at the Slytherin and Gryffindor. "Are you two not capable of restraining yourselves? This is the second time today I find you two bickering like children."

And as she'd been the one who wasn't fuming as much before Ms. Venus' approached, Hermione tightened the stranger-lips and looked apologetically at the woman.

"Perhaps you two wouldn't find yourselves in this predicament if you knew how to set your differences aside," the woman added through the silence the Gryffindor brunette and the blonde Slytherin were adapting. And as she said that, both of them looked up at her; a mix of confusion and hope in their eyes. A hope that was instantly squashed when she said, "Now, I hope whatever assignment you two are working on together, because of that embarrassing scene Slughorn said you caused in his lesson yesterday, is completed without anymore fighting. I'd hate to have to inform Professor McGonagall about this."

And as the blonde woman pulled out that note-pad and golden pen she carried everywhere with her, Hermione frowned to herself as Ms. Venus just stormed past them; not saying anything else as she scribbled unknown things.

"Hermione—" Taking the first second after the Ministry Official was out of sight, Ron made himself noticed by his side next to Harry. "I thought you went to the Hospital Wing?"

Hermione was looking at Ron, her heart hurting as she hadn't noticed how much she missed him—how much she had missed Harry and him. It had been a few hours, but she missed their comfort; their warmth. But as she was staring at him, a few tears springing into her eyes, Hermione was ignored by the redhead.

Scowling, a little more controlled, Draco cleared his throat; feeling ashamed as he met the eyes of the Weasel. "Obviously I lied, Ronald," he managed to say in a tone he'd overheard so many times Granger speak with. "If I told you or Pot—Harry that I needed to meet Malfoy, you would've wanted to come along."

"With good reason," Ron said angrily at the brunette witch. "You're forgetting that he attacked you with a steaming potion last time you worked with him. You can't go about sneaking off, Hermione; especially not with this git. You might end up burned…Or tortured again."

And as soon as Ron said that, the hatred and disgust evident in his voice, Hermione almost recoiled into her seat as the redhead's blue eyes were daggered towards her, towards the Slytherin she happened to be stuck as.

Hermione blinked away from Ron, looking towards Malfoy as he narrowed her brown eyes; looking disgusted as well.

"Leave it, Ron." Saving the moment by some divine miracle, after throwing the blonde Slytherin a calculating stare, Harry pulled his redheaded best friend back a step; his bespectacled eyes now on his other friend. "'Can your assignment with Malfoy wait, 'Mione? We need to talk to you. It's important."

Meeting his own silver eyes, looking at his own pale face that was now being controlled by Hermione Granger, Malfoy nodded a single nod at Potter; brown curls flying around him as he did so. "I'll…Later, alright, Malfoy?"

Not giving Malfoy any chance to say anything to Hermione, Ron snatched the girl's schoolbag, grabbed one of her hands, and dragged her away from the table. Not realizing that although he was holding her hand, he had left Hermione behind on that table; her soul and mind inside Malfoy's body.

**X**

They were walking out to the grounds of the castle. The sky was a navy blue now, grey clouds instead of white; the glowing moon in the shape of a crescent, taking the place of the sun as it signaled that it was nighttime now. But despite the chilly weather, the wind brushing past them in a violating manner, freezing their skin, the Golden Trio continued a path away from the school and its students.

Harry and Ron were speaking silently with one another, their brunette friend caught in the middle of them as they exchanged comments about Quidditch. Neither of them noticing the scowling look on their friend's brown eyes that was an exact replica—that was the original, famous Malfoy glare.

"No, I'm just saying she's a bad-mannered, ill-tempered, bitch and you need to get rid of her," Ron continued, his hand still clutched tightly to Hermione's. "We can't afford people like that in the team."

Shaking his disoriented black hair, Harry tossed his redheaded best friend a frown. "I'm not getting rid of her. She's one of the best Chasers Gryffindor has seen in a while." And then passing Hermione's front, Harry managed to reach and punch the redheaded boy in the gut. "And don't call Ginny a bitch, Ron. She's your sister."

Snorting at that, Ron said, "so? She's still fairly nasty and a hazard."

"You're just still upset that Ginny asked McLaggen to join practices," Harry laughed.

And as both boys phased into a comfortable bickering, into a friendly argument amongst friends, the soul living inside of Hermione Granger's body was growing more aggravated the further they walked and the further they talked. So without holding back, Draco stopped abruptly, glaring at Weasley and Potter. "How further are we walking?" He was glaring now. "I'm freezing my ass off, and you two are leading us straight to the wards McGonagall has around the castle. If we take one more step, the Aurors are going to come hexing us."

Halting their conversation, Ron and Harry exchanged a look; both looking worried and taken aback by their best friend's attitude.

"Alright, I'm sorry, Hermione," Potter was the first to break the awkward moment. "I just wanted to get away from the castle. You know, security and privacy measures, and all that."

Letting another single moment pass, Draco tried to collect his patience, remembering that he was morphed into the world's biggest sympathetic and kind person. "Sorry," he mumbled, feeling like the manly-bits that he left behind in his real body were about to disappear. "I'm just…Bad day."

Harry nodded once, but didn't press it. "Before I begin to tell you, 'Mione, you need to promise not to go yelling your knickers off, alright? We've already established that I can't help it sometimes, and I don't want to be lectured."

"And, though you'll be mad, it's pretty brilliant," Weasley added, looking hopeful.

But before Draco could question what the hell they were on about, Harry's spoke once more. "I think I know where one of the Horcruxes is," there was some type of relief in his voice. "When you left, I sort of started dozing off. I've had a massive headache all day, but I didn't think much of it. Just stress, you know? But when I fell asleep, that's all it took. You-Know-Who was angry about something, furious. He killed a group of people, no clue who. But through that, he thought of something. Something that had Ravenclaw's symbol on it."

A little dumfounded—well, a lot dumfounded; completely lost and confused—Draco took a step back from Potter and Weasley; certain that his confusion was pooling onto Granger's face.

_What the hell were they on about? _He thought to himself, his mind turning itself into a knot. Had Potter just insinuate he was inside the Dark Lord's mind? Did he just say that he has some sort of connecting with him that Granger knew was dangerous? And what the hell was a Horcrux?

Taking Hermione's silence as skepticism, however, Harry looked serious; like he was discussing very important business. "I know what you're thinking, Hermione, but I'm certain of what I saw."

Clearing his throat, looking up from his lashes at the brunette witch, Ron said, "We know how you feel about…well, what happened in Bellatrix Lestrange's vault, but Harry had been right then too. He knew the bloody wench had a Horcrux hidden there."

Draco shook his temporarily-borrowed head, those brown curls flying around everywhere again. "Wait, wait. So…What are you saying?"

"That the Horcrux is here!" Harry almost but shouted desperately at the girl. "You-Know-Who hid a Horcrux inside the castle, Hermione. And by what I saw, it belonged to Ravenclaw. And if that's true, well, we're one step closer. We just need to find it."

Still completely at loss with Potter's ramblings about who-the-hell-knew, Draco knitted brown brows, trying his hardest to make his exterior look understanding. "Okay. So, that thing is here. Where do we find it? And what object of Ravenclaw's could it be, a random bird or what?"

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Harry puffed a chuckle. "Yeah, that would be practical, wouldn't it? But I doubt You-Know-Who's the pet type."

"Not unless you count that damned snake…" Draco widened his eyes, realizing a second late that he let that slip.

For his luck, though, Harry had been mumbling something to his redheaded best friend. "I think I'll go find a few Ravenclaw friends," he said, looking in thought. "Maybe one of them will know about a significant item that belonged to Ravenclaw."

"Just don't ask Cho," Ron yelled behind the Chosen One's retreating body. "Ginny will butcher you!"

_A piece of his soul_, Draco mused silently, his vision darted to the further grounds of the castle; watching the bubble of protection at the boundaries. _The Dark Lord cast a bit of his soul into something_, he continued. What the hell was going on? What the hell did Potter have up his sleeves? How far into his plan to destroy the Dark Lord was Granger into? And how much of it did she know? How much of it was _he_ supposed to know for Potter and the Weasel not to suspect anything?

Bringing him away from all his questions, the sound of a throat clearing uncomfortably, Draco glanced away from what laid yards away to find blue eyes staring at him intently. Scrunching up his nose a little, automatically loathing the way those eyes were gazing at him, he snapped, "What?"

The redheaded Gryffindor cleared his throat again, looking uncomfortable as the girl's brown eyes had narrowed and looked upset. "…Ginny mentioned that she thought something was wrong with you," he looked concerned. "You told her you were just tired, but I've seen you changing."

Inwardly, Malfoy let out a groan. It hadn't even been a complete day, and the Weasel had been the one to catch him? It had to be him to know that the girl standing before him wasn't technically that know-it-all girl, but his arch-enemy?

"It started since before we came to Hogwarts, Hermione. I could see it," Ron continued, not caring that the girl's stare looked far away. "You didn't like the idea of coming back, I know. But…somehow, I feel like it has to do with me."

Draco raised an eyebrow, watching carefully as the Gryffindor took a step towards him; gently taking one of the hands of the body he was currently borrowing.

"I know you're disappointed in me," he whispered to the brunette in front of him, his blue eyes looking miserable and ashamed. "And, I am too, Hermione. I'm disappointed that I left. That I walked out on you and Harry. But I meant what I said then, when I came back."

"Sure you did," Malfoy huffed, trying to take a step away from the redhead.

"It was that blasted Horcrux, 'Mione," Ron continued, gripping her hand tighter, not letting Hermione go. "It made me think things…twist them. I know you love Harry as your brother, and I shouldn't have assumed more. I shouldn't…I shouldn't have made you choose between him and me. It wasn't…I just…" He stopped, his blue eyes digging their way into the brown staring at him. He looked at her deeply, wanting her to see; to know how sorry he was, how he didn't want her to be upset anymore that he'd left them—_her_.

And what came next, what possessed Ron to do it, was far beyond his own knowledge. All he knew is that he no longer had words, just feelings. And those feelings couldn't be said, they needed to be expressed. So without thinking twice about it, or thoroughly for that matter, he reeled her in by the hand he had. And in less than a second, he closed his eyes; leaning down to her.

Watching with horrified eyes as the redhead was closing in on him, Draco looked like he wanted to vomit and scream surrender. Weaselbee was in love with Granger, _in love_! And seeing as he was not—in a form, yes—Granger, Draco slapped Weasley hard on the chest; shoving him away from him and Granger's body that he was currently using.

"Hermione, I—"

"Ow, ow, ow!" Draco cried dramatically, wincing to himself as Granger's squeaky voice pierced his hearing. "Ow! Merlin, _ow_!" He clutched onto Granger's stomach tightly, trying to make her face look absolutely in pain.

"Hermione, are you alright? What's wrong?"

And as Weasley was trying to get his hands on the girl, to see what was wrong with her, Malfoy slapped his hands away again. "I got to go," he said hurriedly, gripping Granger's schoolbag tightly. "Killer cramps, I'm sorry! My ovaries feel like they're exploding! Barmy period, I'm telling you!"

Leaving a confused and bewildered redheaded Gryffindor behind, Draco rushed as fast as he could back to the castle.

Salazar Slytherin have mercy on his soul. He needed to get out of Granger's body fast. Quickly before Weasley decided to declare his love for the muggle-born and Draco was the one who ended up snogging Potter's sidekick.


	7. Helping a Slytherin

**This Is War**

**Chapter Six: **Helping a Slytherin

Two days had gone by. Two days. As in forty-eight hours, two-thousand and eight-hundred and eighty minutes, and Merlin only knows how many seconds. At the juncture of being stuck in someone else's body, not even she could take the time to calculate the precise math. The thought of that time lost just caused a dagger of depression to penetrate her.

But alas, there she was after two days of feigning to be the Slytherin Prince. She sat on the Slytherins table, a plate of untouched food, a sprawled book by her goblet of Pumpkin Juice, and Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass in front of her.

"I'll get them, I swear it," Nott growled menacingly, his blue eyes narrowing into slits as a few of his house-mates smirked mockingly at the black-eye that he was sporting. The murmurs of his latest fight still being spoken about, especially loud to show him no mercy. "I'll start with Finnegan and Weasley, and then I'll get these idiots."

In her misfortunate disguise as Draco Malfoy, Hermione stared with blank and irritated silver eyes at the brunette boy.

Nott turned to Malfoy, looking at him with a scowl. "Don't look at me that way, Malfoy," he huffed. "You know that you'd be planning to retaliate if that Half-Blood and Blood Traitor did this to you," he pointed at his bruised face. "I don't care to get in trouble with our dearest Headmistress. I'm getting them back."

Despite her efforts to remain as Malfoy-centric as she could, Hermione felt herself scowl at the boy with a parental expression. The type she used on Harry and Ron every time they got out of hand. "You're going about like this was an unfair fight, Nott," the tone she used was an annoyed one. "The only reason why Finnegan decided to throw his fists around was because, yet again, you decided that it was appropriate to toss Pavarti Patil on the ground. Now, if you hadn't attempted to throw an Unforgivable, Ro—Weasley wouldn't have jumped in. And even then, he didn't do anything but disarmed you."

Not moved or stirred by that scolding look on the blonde Slytherin's face, Nott just continued to glare; dropping his fork and pushing away his plate. "If I didn't know any better, Draco, I'd say you were siding with the Weasel," he snapped. Before the boy across from him could say anything to his previous comment, however, Nott rose from the bench. "And believe me, mate, you wouldn't if you knew what _I_ did."

Hermione creased her forehead, remaining silent as Nott stalked away from the table. What did that even mean? Was there something happening among all these Slytherin boys that Malfoy hadn't let her know about?

With a clearing of her throat, Daphne Greengrass looked up with her dark eyes at the boy before her; interrupting Hermione's musing. "Odd," she said, her gaze narrowing.

"What's odd, Greengrass?" Hermione asked the girl, making sure to pull on Malfoy's favorite uninterested stare.

"_You_," Daphne replied straightforwardly. "You're much more logical than what I can remember, Malfoy. And the fact that you didn't sit there and plan attacks of revenge on those Gryffindors for Nott's sake, I'm impressed by." Then she smiled; the act looking strange on her always serious expression. "It's just nice to know there's someone else not wasting their time with stupid, childhood grudges when we're at war."

Feeling a little taken aback, not even knowing if she should be concerned that she wasn't passing off as Malfoy the way she should, or that she should be concerned that she actually found that Daphne Greengrass was rational herself, Hermione kept her blank stare. "You talk a lot about that, Greengrass. _Why?_ Why do you suddenly have no hatred towards anyone else? Why did you allow Parkinson to call you a Blood Traitor the other night? Surely someone like you has something up her sleeve."

Daphne's dark eyes became impossibly darker, silence looming between both of them. And as the Slytherin girl kept quiet for a moment, Hermione felt a little satisfied that she managed to stun someone the way Malfoy always had. "…Someone like me," then the witch let out a throaty exhale, a wrinkling frown on her face.

And as quick as it seemed like the silence was going to reappear, Daphne straightened her back, shut her Potions book, and looked at Malfoy head-on. "We used to be friends, do you remember, Draco?" There was no emotion, nor was she waiting for a confirmation to her rhetorical question. "All of us. We used to be friends. There was no hatred among us, no superiority that wasn't passed as dark humor. We were friends, simple as that. But then one day, we weren't. We became what we are now. Just strangers gliding by one another, forgetting the times when we were children and we enjoyed each other's company."

Once again, despite her knowing that she was Draco Malfoy on the exterior, Hermione couldn't help but bite her—well, Malfoy's—bottom lip. There was something in the tone in which Daphne spoke, something about the way she looked so determined and strong that Hermione recognized; that she understood.

"I remember when it happened to me," the Slytherin witch continued, not really noticing the odd nervousness on Malfoy's face."When I became one of those strangers," she blinked now, suddenly looking distant. "It was the beginning of our Sixth Year. I came back broken…hostile. Everything that I'd known was a lie. We weren't superior, not at all. Every rambling that I'd heard from old Purebloods was nothing but a lie. Because if it had been true, if we were all better, if we were all royalty, why were we servants? Why were we made to do things we didn't want to? Why were we forced to fight, to kill? If we were better…If we were perfect and un-flawed, why'd they kill her? Why did they kill my mother?"

Hermione bit harder into Malfoy's lip, using his own teeth as little daggers cutting him open. Her heart was falling down, sliding with sympathy and sadness for that Slytherin girl in front of her. She wanted to reach out, of course she did. She wanted to take her hand, squeeze it, show her support, but she had to resist. She was Draco, not Hermione.

"They killed her to keep us in line—to keep my father in line. And when that happened, when I no longer felt anything anymore, so did he," Daphne continued with her story. "Father didn't want to anymore. And that was it. We decided to go straight. He didn't want to fight for someone who murdered his wife…who left his daughters without a mother." She blinked once more, her eyes on Draco now.

"I still believe some people aren't worthy of magic," she said knowingly. "Take a look at Crabbe and Goyle. Both are too dimwitted to even know what to do with that sort of power. Then there's that annoying Brown girl who, let's face it, is a waste of space. Hannah Abbott, for Slytherin's sake, should've just been born a muggle. She's too sweet and caring and patient. She could've easily become a teacher for those little kids in muggle schools."

"You didn't mention any Muggle-Borns," Hermione pointed out, eyeing the blonde girl carefully.

Daphne rolled her eyes. "I'm not prejudice anymore, Malfoy," she said sternly. "I just told you, I believe some people don't deserve magic and that has nothing to do with their blood status. But, fine. You want a name of a Muggle-Born? Dean Thomas."

Half-expecting to hear her own name, Hermione just asked bleakly, "why him?"

"I've seen some of his drawings," Daphne said lightly. "And, honestly, they're brilliant. Someone like him doesn't need magic. He'd be better off without it, actually. Because then he could just go ahead and create his own magic in the things he draws and paints."

Hermione tightened those borrowed lips into a line, but said nothing more on the subject. She, however, brought something to the surface that she'd been wondering about. "What happened with you and Pansy, Greengrass? You two used to be friends, what changed?"

"_I_ changed," the Slytherin replied instantly to her house-mate. "I submerged myself into my studies, no longer caring with what happened in this school and its rumors. I just wanted to learn, and I wanted to get out of here. But as my determination to succeed increased, Pansy's fear did too." She sighed, frowning softly. "Pansy hasn't always been an entirely awful person. She just adapts to what's going to benefit her. And when she found out about my mother's murder, her fear became far more intensified. She wanted to do the right thing, to support the Dark Lord without a retort. She just wants to survive."

Trying to settle a few compliments, a few positive remarks to everything the girl had just confided to her—to _Malfoy_, for some reason—Hermione settled on saying, "I like you," to the girl as Blaise Zabini approached the table with an intense frown on his dark face.

Daphne blinked once, looking a little surprised. "I'm flattered, Malfoy, really," she began to gather her books, "but the rumor is that a Greengrass sister fancies you, and it isn't me. You're not my type."

Hermione was about to protest, feeling a flush of embarrassment crawl onto Malfoy's cheeks, but she was silenced as Daphne threw him an amused glance; something in her eyes suggesting she'd just been joking around. And in a quick movement of time, Greengrass left the table; leaving Malfoy and Zabini behind.

Shaking Malfoy's blonde head, Hermione sighed with some sort of sorrow; a resignation as her rapid brain processed everything the Slytherin girl had divulged. She felt guilty, even, that if she stayed in Malfoy's body for too long, she'd miss the chance of helping Daphne—something she wanted to do the instant she revealed why she was now an outcast among her house-mates.

Pulling her from her thoughts, another Slytherin, who clearly needed some help, grunted miserably across from her. Blaise was sitting with his arms crossed, his usually glittering green eyes were dark, murky, and his expression was scrunched up to that of a very aggravated glower.

"Zabini," Hermione called after a quick clear of the throat, "are you alright?"

Blaise glanced up, his frown not wavering as he looked into the silver eyes of his best friend. "Do I look alright, Malfoy?" He snapped. "I'm on the bloody edge. My mother refuses to send me more information about what I'm supposed to do next, and Nott's being a bloody witch about me not jumping into the fight he started with Finnegan."

Hermione cringed slightly away, adding more distance that the tabletop put between her and Malfoy's friend. Knowing that she had to continue the conversation, because she dared to ask, she settled on picking at the only thing in his comment that she knew about. "Nott's being a git," she said with an exasperation Malfoy was known for. "Why'd he suddenly develop hatred for the Half-Blood and Patil?"

"Patil?" Zabini questioned, raising a thick brow at his blonde friend. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, he seems to be enjoying knocking her down," Hermione remarked. "And that's odd, seeing as Nott usually behaved himself. I just figured there's something off with him now."

Zabini looked in thought, his frown creasing his forehead slightly as he stared at Malfoy carefully. Could it have been, he thought, that Malfoy was now suddenly more attuned to everyone else?

"_You_ must know," Hermione pressed, not liking the suspicion in Zabini's face. "You're constantly around him when he goes into his fits to attack Patil."

Blaise tensed his back, his forehead creasing more, but his eyes went from looking bewildered to looking concerned. A worry that he was fighting with himself to push away before it became more apparent.

However, not counting the person in front of him wasn't selfish Draco Malfoy, but smart and observing Hermione Granger, she let him dwell in his moment of abrupt silence. And as she did so, as she moved those grey eyes that belonged to Malfoy away from his house-table, to explore the outside boundaries that the rest of the Great Hall was, Hermione caught sight of a pair of brown eyes staring directly towards her direction.

These brown eyes were focused, in thought, concerned, worried, hesitant, pained, and held a slight form of apparent adoration and caring as they looked on. They were the eyes of Pavarti Patil. And the only problem is, Hermione thought immediately, was that they weren't looking at her, though they were set on the table she sat. No. These brown eyes were zeroed in on Blaise Zabini.

_'—__apparently, something's up with Pavarti.' _A memory rushed into Hermione's head; one that was entirely her own as it happen the last day she was in her own body. _'__They think she's traded sides or something.'_

With wide eyes, Hermione gaped and stifled a gasp as Zabini looked back at her; his mask as an unconcerned-Slytherin clearly on. It was all making sense. Her mind was putting pieces together: little moments of eye-contact that Zabini spared to Patil; the suspicion Lavender had over Pavarti's current behavior; that look on Pavarti's face as she stared at Zabini's back; Nott's anger towards the Gryffindor girl.

Blaise raised an eyebrow once more, looking at the shell-shocked expression on his best friend's face as it started morphing into different emotions, one by one. They both sat there in a thick silence, Zabini not realizing that the person stuck inside Malfoy's body had concluded that Pavarti now held a death-card.

**X**

"It's simple, actually," Aphrodite Venus' voice echoed among her classroom, her words slithering between the open rows of desks and the students in them. "Once a witch or wizard has mastered their magic, they can proceed to study a spell thoroughly. The spell can then be broken down to its core, and then amplified."

In the class mixed with Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, Cho Chang raised her hand; a questioning look on her face. "Ms. Venus," she began as the woman in front of the classroom allowed her to speak, "so you're saying that it's possible for every spell to be modified? Even the Unforgivable ones?"

The elderly blonde woman gave a solemn nod, her navy-blue eyes stern. "Anything can be modified, Miss Chang," she replied to the Ravenclaw, "it just takes the right mind and skill. However, some who've taken the study to enhance spells have stated that the Unforgivable Curses are trickier than most. They've been able to tweak them to add an extra effect, but nothing powerful or permanent."

"Are we going to learn this?" Neville Longbottom spoke, bringing attention to himself as a few of his classmates turned to him. "How to alter spells?"

"I'm afraid for the time being, since your lessons of Defense Against the Dark Arts are in between teachers at the moment, that'll not be the case," Ms. Venus said truthfully. "However, we might attempt to create a spell next lesson. But for now, that's all for today."

At the dismissal from the classroom, many students began to gather their belongings and shove them into their schoolbags. Some murmurs broke out about next lesson, the excitement clear as they wondered what type of spell they'll be creating. And through the whispering and shuffling of feet, Neville eyed the girl he'd been sharing the desk with all lesson.

"Alright there, 'Mione?" He asked, slowing his pace to stack his notes.

The brunette still sitting firm and tense in her seat blinked her brown eyes towards her fellow Gryffindor, mind faraway as she barely heard the boy speak. But in that second that he was waiting for an answer, watching her carefully, a frown started to crease on the girl's forehead—Draco Malfoy was coming back into Hermione Granger's body.

"Did he interrupt a deep thought?" Coming from around Neville with his leather schoolbag already over his shoulder, Harry Potter smiled jokingly at his best friend. "Oh, there it goes. I can see it growing smaller in your eyes." After he said this, Harry nudged Neville teasingly on the ribs; making the latter's cheeks flush pink and look momentarily embarrassed.

Whatever was the joke between the two Gryffindors, Draco had to resist the urge of snarling at them that he didn't care about their jokes and their caring, smiling faces. "Erm, I was actually a little worried about Wea—Ron," he was going to shoot a spell at himself for this, or at Granger for her stupid obsessive worry about the redheaded Weasel. "McGonagall took punishment far, don't you think? Seamus and he are to serve detention, not even allowed to attend class."

"He'll be fine, Hermione," Potter sighed tiredly. "Now, forget about it and let's go to break. Ginny and Luna said they'll meet us by the lake."

Clearing Granger's throat lightly, Malfoy tried to look assured by the Chosen One's comment. "I'll meet you there, I'm just going to stop by the library and pick up a book. I won't be long."

Like the dimwits the Slytherin knew they were, Malfoy watched through Granger's brown eyes as Longbottom and Potter headed towards the door without another concerned look; leaving her alone in the now empty classroom.

Once the silence rung throughout the room, becoming so strong that it pressured into his borrowed ears, Malfoy sighed in exhaustion; a mental one, at that. He forgot all about Granger's things sprawled before him, and stuck her hand into her robes. And a little uncomfortable as he graced the side of her breast by accident, he pulled out a squared parchment from the hidden pocket.

_Funny_, he thought bitterly as he began to unfold the letter, _I'm stuck as Granger, but my personal mail is still delivered to me. _It really was surprising when he woke inside the girls' dormitory in Gryffindor Tower with an owl scratching the window. He'd been about to blast whoever's owl that was, but when he recognized the elegant feathers on it, he went to retrieve the note in its beak.

_Draco,_

_ There's not much I can divulge with you. Every owl that is dispatched or enters the manor is intercepted by a Death Eater. Fortunately, they assigned a completely inept man on duty this week. However, I still insist that you only owl to Spinners End. _

_ As for what you requested, I'm afraid I don't know much. And though it's not my main concern, nor should it be yours, I find myself a bit benevolent for Annette Zabini's circumstance. Meanwhile, I suggest you two go undetected. I'll inform you if anything else arises so he can prepare._

_ Be careful,_

_ N.M._

He regretted it instantly, accepting the letter from that blasted owl hours ago. He didn't expect that his request for information would be this futile.

He'd made a silent vow to himself, that he'd help Zabini as much as he could. Yes, Malfoy was aware that it wasn't in a Slytherin's nature to be helpful, but some part of him, a part that he didn't really know was there, nagged him to assist. He knew how difficult it was to take something on that was ordered by the Dark Lord; and he didn't wish that type of pressure on his friend. It could be maddening, life-threatening—though everything was nowadays.

As he, one by one, began to stack Granger's notes, Malfoy was oblivious as a tall figure slithered into the empty classroom. And once they spotted him in disguise with that mass of brown curls and Gryffindor robes, that tall figure headed towards him.

"If you were going to be alone," Hermione Granger looked up from her schoolbag, her narrowed brown eyes meeting unnaturally calm silver ones, "then it should be in the library."

"Granger," Draco said scornfully, his vision embedded with his own pale, pointed face, and his entire being. "Lost your way from the Slytherin dungeons?"

Hermione rolled his eyes, his own face not annoyed as she decided not to let it. "Actually, I noticed that you didn't exit the room. I just…I just wanted to know that you were alright."

"I'm _not_ alright, Granger," Draco said roughly. "I'm in your body, remember?"

She ignored his comment. "Talking about that…" She trailed off for a second, reaching over with his long fingers and taking one of her own curls. "It's been two days since this happened to us. How are you…erm…You know, staying clean?"

Draco squared the shoulders of the body he was possessing, tensing immediately as he looked at his fingers tangled into Granger's hair. "…What do you mean?"

"How do you shower in my body, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, feeling a little embarrassed as she said this; but she was curious. "I mean, you have to, don't you? You don't plan on making me walk all…you know."

Malfoy was still uncomfortable. "I don't…I haven't been sneaking a peek, alright, Granger?" He was suddenly offended. "I strip by wand, dress by wand, and when I shower…I just—_how're you showering me, then_?" He snapped, not liking the flutter his words were making.

Hermione chuckled at his nervousness, though they were mixed with uneasiness as well. She just had to ask, didn't she? "Same as you, I reckon. Though, I've had Pansy Parkinson offer to scrub me," she shuddered.

"Yeah, she tends to offer," Malfoy made a face, a not-so pleased one. "Brush her off, alright, Granger? Though, I don't know how you wouldn't. You're still a girl. Unless you like _that_, then please wait until you're in your own body. I'd hate for Pansy to think we've got something."

At the sneer Malfoy was making her precious face sport, Hermione glared at him with her disapproval. "Don't make me propose to her, Malfoy," she threatened. "I can convince her to keep her hands to herself and wait until the marriage."

"Don't threaten me, Granger. I'll make sure _you're_ engaged to the Weasel. Though, it's not much of a threat, is it? You'd really fancy that." He was smirking at her still, but instead of making her brown eyes look crude, they were actually playful.

She smiled at him, but decided not to answer that. "How are they, by the way?" She asked in a gentle voice.

Malfoy remained silent for a second, watching himself take the open seat next to him. She sat herself down, flashing his silver eyes back at him, making his body calm. "Weasley is Weasley," he said to her. "And Potter…well, his life's not exactly the easiest, is it?"

She smiled dimly. "You're catching that now, are you?"

Malfoy rolled her brown eyes. "Potter said that he had a dream," he continued. "That he saw what the Dark Lord was up to. He couldn't really figure it out, but he said he knows what the next Horcrux could be."

Hermione dropped the smile she made Malfoy's lips twist to. "I've _told_ him to practice his Occlumency," she growled, the sound mixed with Malfoy's voice could almost be passed like _he_ was the one who said it. She shook his blonde hair, his silver eyes now strained. "Anyway, there's nothing I can do about that. He's a hardheaded idiot sometimes." Malfoy leered a little, surprised by her not so adoring remarks about the Boy-Who-Lived. "What did he say about the Horcrux?"

"Just that it belonged to Ravenclaw," he shrugged at her carelessly. "He's still trying to find what it could be. He had a talk with Lovegood, but he didn't think she helped."

"And what did you say to that?" She questioned him, raising one of his blonde brows.

Again, he shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing really. He just wants for you to trust him."

As Malfoy scoffed at that, Hermione shook her head but laughed. "Well, I can't just stay silent, can I? I'll need you to tell me everything. They'll start getting suspicious that I haven't come up with anything yet."

"Fine," he replied to her instantly, complying without a fight or retort. "But you've to do something for me, Granger."

"I'm already improving your mark in Transfiguration," she said to him, her tone teasing. "Do you want me to court a pureblood girl, or something, because I can't oblige. While I'm in your body, your rendezvous flings are at halt."

Malfoy frowned; he hated seeing his face controlled by Granger. "No," he said in irritation, "I want you to keep an eye out for Zabini. Tell him that you didn't get any information for him, but that he should stay off the grid for a while. And that means calming Nott, for his own sake."

No longer feeling the slightest bit of amusement, Hermione remember what she'd discovered earlier in the day. And by what Malfoy had just said, she now wondered if he knew it.

Mistaking her silence for hesitation, Malfoy sighed deep in defeat. "Zabini isn't a bad person, Granger. And if you knew what he was going through, your little noble heart would intend to help."

At the frustration he was oozing out, Hermione couldn't help her 'little noble heart' and put one of his hands on her shoulder; looking at Malfoy reassuringly. "I'll help your friend," she said kindly. "But you've to help me help mine."

Squeezing one of her palms into a fist, Malfoy brushed off his hand. "Whatever, Granger. Just don't forget we need to help ourselves get out of this body-swap."

As a silence pierced the classroom, the Gryffindor and Slytherin mixed into one another, Aphrodite Venus watched from the office inside the room. Her ever constant notepad and golden pen out as she scribbled a '_shows improvement, but needs more time'_.


	8. Complication of Things

**This Is War**

**Chapter Seven: **Complication of Things**  
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There it was again, another book. Another book about the fabulous use of PolyJuice Potion, of who created it; why it was created; how it's brewed; and the thousand of reasons why it's both beneficial and a threat to the Wizarding World.

There were more than ten-thousand books in the library of Hogwarts, and never thinking that she'd see the day she'd say this, Hermione Granger thought that they were all useless right about now. It was like her friends—all these beautifully informative books, ancient and a few decades old—were hiding the answer among them; excluding her out like Lavender Brown had done their Sixth Year when she whispered behind her back.

"Useless, _useless_," she groaned in a heavy desperation, tossing another book to a pile beside her armchair. "I'm never going to find it."

Having had submerged herself in another pile of books like she'd been doing for the past two or three weeks, Hermione was oblivious to the outside world when that bubble of stubbornness and determination took over her. If she had been paying attention when she sat herself down beside the fireplace, she would've seen a few curious eyes glance back and forth to her.

And among those curious glances was a friend of the Slytherin Prince; that person wondering why their blonde friend had been driving himself mad with every flip of a page he would give to all those books.

Shaking her head, Daphne Greengrass stood from her side of the common room, leaving her books and homework behind as she approached the blonde boy. "What are you looking for, Malfoy?"

Hermione picked up another book, opening it to the index and scanning what it had to offer.

"Malfoy?"

_'PolyJuice Potion: Early Roots as SoloJuice Potion.'_ Hermione groaned. There was a time when she, Harry and Ron would've found a use on how to make a PolyJuice Potion that was far simpler than the one they had to brew many times before, but now was not one of those times. She just needed to find a damn spell, potion, or something that explained her current predicament.

"_Malfoy_." Tap.

Feeling rough fingers touch her shoulder, Hermione looked up and found the dark eyes of a blonde witch staring back at her; looking annoyed and amused at the same time.

Finally getting her classmate's attention, Daphne smirked knowingly at the boy. "My, Draco, you're sure giving that Granger girl a run for her galleons."

Hermione shot her brows up, a little confused on what the girl was talking about—but in the reflection coming off of the girl's eyes, Hermione saw what she'd been staring at. It was Malfoy, sitting in an armchair and books scattered left and right; his blonde hair tousled in frustration. "Oh," she breathed, remembering who she was, "erm, yeah. Just studying, you know."

"_Right_," Daphne snorted, leaning down and picking up one of the disregarded books he'd dropped. "You're looking for something, what is it? I haven't seen you this engulfed in textbooks since last year. And we all know what that was about."

In the armchair, Draco Malfoy looked confused, but was quick to shake away the girl's comment.

"Well," Daphne called him again, opening the book she'd gotten, "what are you looking for? Maybe I can help you. You might not be competing with Granger, but I reckon I've read at least half of the books she has in the library. I can be of some use."

Hermione made Malfoy's body sit up taller, clearing his throat as she narrowed his silver eyes at the girl. Yeah, like she could tell Daphne Greengrass what she was desperately researching. One word of what she and Malfoy had gotten themselves into, and then there would be a riot that would distract the war going on outside.

So instead of being Hermione-like, the Gryffindor inside mustered her Slytherin exterior. "Mind your business, Greengrass," she snapped with that venom Malfoy was known for. "Go back to your books. Your help's not wanted here."

Daphne hardened her eyes, her face composing itself into a blank look.

Instantly, Hermione felt like a royal cow. That look on Daphne's face was very Slytherin-like. It was a mask they all pulled on when they didn't want their real emotions to be seen; when they didn't want to show how hurt they really were. Hermione knew that Daphne was now the outcast among her house-mates, and the way she spoke to her was the way Daphne was brushed off by everyone else. It's what caused that mask to come on—because she didn't want anyone to see how rejected she felt.

Letting out a throaty sigh, Hermione made Malfoy's silver eyes soften. "I'm sorry," she murmured, "it's just complicated. I can't have another involved."

Giving Malfoy a stiff nod, Daphne swallowed her pride and sat on the open armchair beside the Slytherin Prince; his book still in her hands. She let a moment or two of silence linger in the air, Slytherins walking back and forth in the backgrounds; the green-tint to the common room becoming lighter, signaling that someone had just entered.

"…I hope you're not in trouble again, Malfoy," Daphne whispered hesitantly, her dark eyes on the book and not the boy next to her. "Salazar only knows why you're back since what happened Sixth Year, but don't blow it."

Hermione kept her gaze on the Slytherin witch, watching as she fingered the edges of the pages of the book. Something about her was lowering, like she was admitting an exhausted aura.

Sensing that stare, Daphne met the grey eyes of her classmate. "Hogwarts is an escape, Malfoy. It takes us away from the madness outside. I know you don't want to be back there, back to Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. So, please…don't ruin it."

As she said this, as Hermione caught that the book the Slytherin had open was to a recipe on how to brew PolyJuice Potion—Daphne's eyes looking disapproving—Pansy, Blaise, and Theodore marched up to their blonde friend.

"Malfoy, you git," aiming a punch at Hermione's borrowed-shoulder, Nott glared at his friend, "we were waiting for you by the lake. What's the point of a partnered project if you're not going to show?"

Surprise that the hit she'd received didn't really hurt, Hermione composed Malfoy's body and aimed a threatening frown at Nott. "I was busy," she snapped back. "And besides, I gave you my portion of the project. The rest is on you. And if you don't finish it on time, you won't only have McGonagall to deal with, but me too."

Theodore rolled his eyes. "Fine. Don't get your wand in a knot, I'll finish it. You're rubbish at Transfiguration, anyway."

Snickering mockingly, Pansy lowered herself on the armrest of Malfoy's armchair. "Ignore him, Draco," her fingers were now in his disheveled, blonde strands, "these past few weeks you've been improving. At the rate you're going, you're going to surpass the little Gryffindor Mudblood."

Shaking Malfoy's head, hating the way Parkinson always wanted to rub a part of him, Hermione smacked the hand away to escape the girl's fingers.

"Oh, come here, Pans," chuckling darkly to himself now, Theodore reached over to the dark-haired witch and pulled her away from Malfoy. "If Draco doesn't want sloppy servings, I sure don't mind."

Now wrapped in Nott's muscular arms, looking both offended and rejected, Pansy surrendered and let the brunette boy embrace her. "You're such a git, Theo."

"Yeah, that's true," he admitted, "but Draco still doesn't want you, so shut it." And with one hand caressing Pansy's left knee, Theo flashed a leer at the quiet, dark-skinned boy among them. "She's a bit of a handful, but she's worth it, don't you think, Zabini? She's cunning, witty, pretty, and a Pureblood. All you can want in a girl."

Standing tall, emerald eyes narrowed into slits, entire being frozen, Blaise remained silent as his friend's words echoed around them; the message loud and clear. It was evident that Nott was still upset with him and that he wanted nothing more than to rile up Zabini. But the thing was, no one knew _why_ he did—or what he insinuated by those comments.

"Blaise," with a ringing voice amongst the silence, having had become background, Daphne made herself known, "are you still going to Italy for the holidays like you do every year?"

Zabini blinked, all the attention was now on the blonde girl sitting in the armchair beside Malfoy that they hadn't spotted before.

"Because if you are, I've a favor to ask," Daphne continued, trying to ease the place of uneasiness Nott had put the dark-skinned Slytherin into. "You remember that little antique shop you took me to once when I visited? There was a necklace there that I wanted. You remember which one, don't you? I'll owl you the money for it, if you don't mind."

Frowning, Pansy crossed her arms as Nott wrapped his around her waist. "Can't you get it yourself, Greengrass? Blaise is not your house-elf."

"It's a favor, Pansy," Daphne retorted. "People do that for one another. But if you must know, I'm staying in Hogwarts for the holidays and can't go fetch it myself. It's not really safe for Astoria and I out there these days. You understand _that_, don't you?"

Through Daphne's clear sarcasm, through Pansy's upcoming fit of rage, Hermione started rampaging through her mind. _Holidays, _she thought to herself, using Malfoy's fingers to count back.

"For goodness sake!" Leaping up from the armchair, Hermione grabbed Malfoy's wand and bolted towards the exit of the Slytherin common room. Leaving Nott, Zabini, Parkinson, and Greengrass wondering what the hell's been going on with Draco the past weeks.

**X**

This is torture. This is torture. This is torture. Oh, Salazar, this was pure torture.

He had lost count of how many days had gone by since this little mishap happened to him, but by the way people drifted to him, like they _wanted_ to be with him, in his presence, he knew it had been too many days now. They'd all become too comfortable around him, like he was accepted; like they thought he was their precious friend.

And currently adding to his dread and irritation, he was smothered on a bench on the outside grounds of Hogwarts with one of the people he'd been proud he'd never said one word to: Luna Lovegood.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Luna looked away from the view of the green grounds, her blue eyes gentle and carefree as they looked at the brunette beside her. "The weather, I mean."

Trying his hardest not to scowl at the girl, Draco Malfoy looked away from her to glance at the direction the Ravenclaw had been staring at. Passing the field with students, passing the gardens and the hills, Draco saw the glooming sky ahead of them. It was a murky blue, almost turning grey as the clouds remained dark as they passed through. The sun was hidden, the wind blowing past them was freezing—a storm was approaching.

Swallowing a stream of insults, Draco turned back to the Ravenclaw with brown eyes he'd been damned with. "It looks like rain," he said in a passive-aggressive tone.

Luna nodded her head, smiling aloofly. "Of course, but it's beautiful, right?" She turned back to her view. "The rain always helps clear my head. Some people enjoy the warmth of the sun, but I prefer the winter weather that freezes my skin."

_Yes, but you're not normal_, Draco wanted to throw at the girl, but he held a tongue that was not his. And honestly, that's what it was about. The fact that he had to subdue his thoughts, his real words, is the real reason why this insane Ravenclaw was sitting next to him; a bloody grin on her face like she was with a friend.

He was not Hermione Granger—though the brown curls, brown eyes, and entire exterior physique contradicted that. And the fact that he's been able to pass as the Bookworm without much problems, only responding an 'I'm fine, just tired' when they aimed a curious glance his way, was starting to make him feel uncomfortable. (That or all these Gryffindors around him were as dense as he'd assumed all along.)

"Padma told me you've been defending me from Lavender," interrupting his internal turmoil, Luna spoke once more and pulled Draco out of his thoughts. There she went again, smiling at him with such a vibe that it made him want to slap her. "Well, that you and Ginny have. I expect it from Ginny, of course. She's my best friend. But, I didn't really expect it from you, Hermione. You don't really like me, do you?"

The breeze hit them with a wave and Malfoy started choking on it; his gasps for air sounding delicate and feminine. Had he gotten things mixed up here? Had he been smiling and hanging about Loony Lovegood when Granger didn't even like her? Wait. That couldn't be true, could it? Granger loved all creatures, strange or not.

"Lavender's not really a problem, though," Luna continued, paying no mind to the brunette girl coughing her lungs up. "She likes Dean, I'm aware. I know that it's a bit hard to accept that he and I can be friends, with me being me, but captivity does that to people. It makes them grow close with whatever form of human life there's around." She paused, looking in thought for a quick second. "I guess I owe the Malfoy family for that."

Finding now that he wasn't heaving over excessive air, Draco was now perfectly still as he could no longer feel the oxygen travel down Hermione's mouth to sustain his soul. He was frozen, struck still as Lovegood beamed at him, blue eyes looking like they held a secret.

"Being imprisoned in their cellar helped me form great friendships with Mister Ollivander, Dean, and even Dobby before he was killed. It wasn't a long imprisonment, but it was long enough to make you reevaluate human relationships."

Still rigid in his spot, Draco realized the other reason why he didn't like the Lovegood girl. And that was because she was a walking symbol of what had happened the previous summer, of the fact that his home was and currently is a place to keep the Light Side's prisoners. Where she and Thomas—his classmates—had been held captive and mishandled cruelly.

And right when he felt like he was going to be sick, making Granger vomit what he'd eaten, Luna and he received the presence of someone else by their bench. And there, looking rushed and in full-out panic, was the figure of Draco Malfoy.

"Mal—Granger," Draco Malfoy huffed, his nostrils quick to inhale all the oxygen he'd lost in his run. "We…talk…_now_." Inhale, exhale, inhale.

Not being someone who was openly hostile, Luna rose from her side of the bench without aiming a retort or crude remark at the Slytherin that'd just appeared. No, as her weird and whimsical self, Luna smiled and had nothing bad to say to the boy that allowed her to get imprisoned. "Well, I guess I'll be going. I'm meeting Neville by the greenhouses."

"Luna—" One would assume that the person to halt the Ravenclaw from her leave would be her Gryffindor friend, but instead it was Draco Malfoy that called her; his lungs full of oxygen now. "I…um…Take care of yourself, please."

Luna held on to her kind expression, not thrown off by the Slytherin's comment. "I'll be with great people, there's no safer place than with them." And with a wave at both students she was leaving behind, the Ravenclaw skipped her way from them.

Standing up with a huff, Hermione Granger glared disapprovingly at the Slytherin before her. "Can you be any more obvious, Granger? You mind as well have told her to tell Potter and Weasley that you love them."

Inside Malfoy's body, Hermione made the boy cross his arms; looking irritated. "She's my friend, Malfoy," she shot back at her own face, "and when you've a friendship with someone, you worry about their well-being. You would know that if you attempted to have friends not lap-dogs."

Choosing to ignore the last bit—because, honestly, he wasn't mad at Granger but at himself; because Lovegood stirred up memories he was never going to forget—Malfoy made Granger let out a hefty sigh and sat her back down on the bench. "You look frantic, Granger," he pointed out. "Did you find a way to undo whatever it is that happened to us?"

One inhale, one exhale, and Hermione sighed too. "No," she said tensely, "I haven't had much luck with anything in the library. But, anyway, Malfoy, that's not important right now."

"How's that not important?" Malfoy retorted, quirking her brown brow. "It should be top priority, Granger. We cannot spend one more day as one another. Your friends annoy me with their feelings and emotional rubbish."

"Really, Malfoy, because yours are so lovely to be around," Hermione snorted, not fully meaning it. Daphne and Blaise were passable, she had to admit. "But forget about the swap—the holidays are tomorrow!"

Not really caring for the shock on his face that Granger was making him wear, Draco shrugged. "That doesn't matter. I'm staying at Hogwarts for the—"

"No, no!" Hermione snapped, reaching over and gripping herself by the shoulders. "You _need_ to go home for the holidays, Malfoy! You cannot stay here!"

"Let go, Granger!" Malfoy hissed, wincing as his strength was bruising the body he was in. "I'm not going anywhere. My mother suggested I stayed, and frankly, I don't disagree."

Hermione shook her shoulders more roughly. "I don't care about what you want!" She shrieked. "There's something important that I—we, since you're me now—have to do! It's important, Malfoy, and I can't stay here and let you be dragged into it!"

Wincing some more, Draco tried tugging his fingers away from Granger's shoulders. "Fine, fine," he shouted, "but let go! _Let go_!"

And just as Hermione was done bullying Malfoy into doing something she desperately needed—since it was a matter of life or death—both of them were unaware as the male two-thirds of the Golden Trio were racing towards them; wands out.

"—Hermione!"

"—Let her go, Malfoy!"

A smile was about to come out of Hermione, but before she could let the overwhelming nostalgia she felt over seeing Ron and Harry, Ron shoved her forcefully several inches. His face was red with anger, eyes darkened and narrowed as Harry moved to the brunette on the bench; clutching her protectively.

"What the hell are you doing, Malfoy?" Ron hissed at the blonde Slytherin before him, his wand-tip digging into the latter's chest.

"I—"

"Shut up!" Ron interjected angrily, pressing his wand harder onto Malfoy's chest. "Don't you think you've done enough to her? You've already tortured her! What else do you want?"

With an expression that expressed heavy confusion, Hermione had to resist the urge to tell Ron to stop, that the wand he was using as a weapon was hurting _her_—that she was in Malfoy's body and she wasn't the enemy.

But in those few seconds that it took her to keep Malfoy's mouth shut, she caught a glance of Harry and her on the bench. And on her face, a face that was controlled by Draco, Hermione saw the tortured and ashamed look she was sporting. Her eyes reflecting a mortified emotion Malfoy was feeling.

"I…I wasn't going to hurt her." Looking away from herself, Hermione flicked the silver eyes she was borrowing to Ron; those eyes filled with sincerity. "We were just talking."

"Hermione doesn't talk to the likes of you!" Ron shot back, not believing a thing. "Now go away, you slimy ferret, before I murder—"

"Stop," still wrapped in the Chosen One's arms, mainly because his hold was too strong to fight with when he thought he was saving a life, Draco spoke through Granger's lips. "Stop it, Ronald. We…We really were just talking."

Ron looked over his shoulders, frowning at Hermione's direction. "You've nothing to say to him, 'Mione. He's a foul, evil little insect and you don't need to waste your breath on him."

But before either Draco or Hermione could say anything else, Harry was the next to comment. "Leave, Malfoy. _Now_."

Inside Malfoy's body, Hermione was both comforted and annoyed. She was happy to see how protective they were of her, how much they loved her, but by the way Malfoy was making her face twist in many emotions that weren't usually associated with him, Hermione felt sympathetic.

Things just had gotten more complicated.

**X**

Those eyes: miserable, ashamed, damned, offended, and self-loathing. They were all she could think about. Sure, they were hers—right down to the lashes and brown hue with golden specs in them—but _she_ had never felt what those eyes expressed before.

When she thought of Draco Malfoy she connected him with arrogance and ignorance, and that was it. To think that he was capable of being something else that wasn't all negative and infuriating was impossible to assume. But now, now she really couldn't think of him entirely as insufferable because of the way he'd twisted her eyes.

But mixing in with those thoughts of who she thought Malfoy was, Hermione asked aloud, "what do you think of Hermione Granger?"

Startled out of the silence that was reigning in their compartment inside the Hogwarts Express, Blaise Zabini raised a quizzical brow at his blonde best friend. "I'm sorry, what?" His tone reflected his confusion. "Did you just ask what I thought of _Granger_?"

Knowing that she should be keeping her part as Malfoy completely accurate, Hermione just couldn't resist asking. She didn't necessarily mean to ask Zabini as much as she'd intended to ask Malfoy what _he_ thought of her now that their lives were reversed. But, still, she looked at the Slytherin with expecting eyes.

"Well, what can I tell you that you don't know, Draco?"

"Without prejudice," Hermione told him in Malfoy's persistent tone, "what do you really think of her?"

Blaise continued to hold on to his confused expression. "I…She's—Granger?"

As she looked at the dark-skinned boy with demanding eyes, Hermione hadn't noticed when the sliding-door of their compartment opened; revealing her entire persona.

With eyes masked in that Slytherin-way as she stood rigid by the door, Granger flashed brown eyes at Blaise. "Can I have a moment with Gran—Malfoy, please."

Shifting a curious glance between both Gryffindor Princess and Slytherin Prince, Blaise stood up after a moment of hesitation. And before he departed, slithering past Granger, his shoulder brushing her arm, Zabini gave his best friend one final look before sliding the compartment door close.

Dragging Granger's body towards the open seat Blaise left, Draco sat himself with her arms crossed. "You said you needed to do something important over the holidays, what is it?"

A little surprised by the straightforwardness, Hermione cleared his throat; placing his hands on his lap in a calming manner she tended to do with her own when she had her body. "For the moment, it's not important, Malfoy," she began. "What we need to do is…get to know a little more of each other. As much as possible to be able to endure these days at home and pass as one another."

Draco nodded once, but said nothing more.

"I…erm…" Hermione cleared Malfoy's throat again, hating the way he made her look so blank and lifeless. "My parents' names are Jean and Richard Granger. They're both muggle dentists—that's a sort of Healer for people's teeth," and so began her share of information. "I'm the only child, but I'm fairly close to my cousin Julianne. Julianne's currently studying in France, and we exchange letters often, but you won't get to meet her.

"I've a few muggle friends that I keep in touch with, but you will not socialize with them. I've purposely kept my distance from them for a year now, so they won't approach you unless you do. And unless they decide to do so, greet them simply and walk away."

He wanted to tell her that he wouldn't socialize with muggles anyway, but he couldn't find the voice to say it. And, what did _that_ mean: purposely keeping her distance from them? Was there a bigger reason for it—and if so, is that why she was making his silver eyes look so sad?

He blinked her eyes and found that she'd continued talking, only catching a, "…but you know them. Then there's Bill, Charlie and Percy, but Percy's has sort of disowned his family, so his mention is always sour and sad for Mrs. Weasley. You'll be sharing a room with Ginny, so please behave yourself. Don't say anything that you don't know the answer to, she's really perceptive. But, I think that sums it up. What about you?"

_Salazar, she talks way too bloody much,_ Draco thought; feeling a frown coming on. "Don't speak to anyone," he said to her, watching as she creased his forehead. "Stay in my room as much as you can and ignore anyone that isn't my parents or….There's not much you need to know."

Hermione frowned in returned. "Malfoy, I need more than that. I'm sure I'm not going to just be locked up in your bedroom all day. What if…What if I'm summoned somewhere? How am I supposed to get around?"

"I've taken care of that before boarding the train," he said to her, keeping her arms crossed stiffly still. "I sent an owl directed to Veda, my house-elf, and gave her specific orders to escort you anywhere you wished." And right as he saw his lips about to move, no doubt Granger about to argue, he added, "you may not like it, but it's going to keep you rooted, Granger. Just trust the house-elf and leave your righteousness when we're in our own bodies."

It was her turn to cross his arms in annoyance. "I figured that owling is going to be a bit problematic, so I made these for us." Digging into the pocket of the Slytherin-robes she was wearing, Hermione pulled out two galleons. "I'm sure you know how these work, right?"

At her sarcastic tone, Draco extended her palm open and just let his fingers hand him the coin. Immediately, a silence took over them, a tension in the air that was suffocating.

Taking the silence as a signal to be able to take his leave, Draco rose up on Granger's small feet and headed for the sliding-door. But right as he'd pushed it open a few centimeters, a flash of something seeped into the interior where he was trapped.

He put her hand on the glass of the door, holding it there for a few seconds. In that moment that he didn't move, he zeroed in on how pale and soft her hand was; how slender and fragile her fingers looked. And that really was the thing about Granger wasn't it, her frailness? He knew that now by the way everything hurt when it impacted into her, whether it was a nudge from Potter, a tight embrace from Weasley, or his own hands doing damage on her. He can't begin to imagine what it felt like when Bellatrix—_no_.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, stopping his thought before it triggered an unwanted memory. His words were low and he did not turn to look back, he just looked at her hand. "I'm sorry if there's anything that you're forced to do while you're me, Granger."

Raising a blonde brow, Hermione was about to ask what that meant, but Malfoy had marched his way out in his favorite fashion of exit. He left her there in his body, wondering why his heart was beating erratically and almost painfully in his chest from the words he'd just made her lips say.


	9. Unsuspected Shades of Purple

**This Is War**

**Chapter Eight: **Unsuspected Shades of Purple**  
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He hadn't known where exactly they were taking him when the Hogwarts Express had come to a stop. He'd been looking out the window of the compartment when they were stilled, the familiar platform that they'd step foot to every year since they were eleven had come up and he hadn't expected what to do from there. He rose out of his seat automatically, following the crowd of people and stepped out of the train and onto the pavement of Platform Nine and Three-quarters.

He had stood frozen for a moment, looking at the place that sat before him, filled with people the Ministry considered to be on their side, protecting their children. No one buzzed with excitement, no one buzzed with chatter or cries of happy reunions between family members. No, there hadn't been any of that—just people whispering and looking ill-eased. And as he'd been bumped into by several people for his lack of moment, he'd been about to move when someone reached for his hand and started tugging him away.

He had been about to protest, about to tell one of those Aurors that he had done nothing wrong, that he hadn't meant to cause any threat, that he was innocent, but then he'd caught sight of the back of Harry Potter's unruly hair; his hand clutching his.

Potter had moved fast between the people in the platform, their lingering eyes, their whispers of support, and the watchful and full presence of the Ministry. Having had been trailing behind Boy Wonder, he'd still been able to see an aggressive frown on his face, the untrusting look behind his glasses as he pulled him towards a mass of redheads.

He had been close to ask what the hell was going on, why were they all gathered in a corner, some other misfits that he didn't recognize protecting them as they stood in a circle. He had been silenced of his questions when Potter tugged his hand again, putting it on a wheel that everyone had been clutching as well. One, two, three, and the object had begun to glow and he'd been spun.

The atmosphere had been twisted and swirled and he'd had the sensation he was going to die, but he was stabilized by Potter's arms and then released. He'd been inhaling like all the air of his lungs had been puffed out of him when he noticed that the entire guard of the Chosen One was standing in front of muggle homes. He'd raised an eyebrow, wondering what they were doing there.

"Come on, let's go inside," Potter had said to him, nudging towards the buildings.

And as he'd been about to protest, he blinked and saw something that wasn't there before. The muggle homes had expanded, another building coming out and spewing magic towards him as Potter's followers marched inside hurriedly; ushering them both in with urgency.

And as he'd been shoved into the door by Potter, who'd still been upset, he'd noticed how old, dark, and cold the house was. He'd taken a curious step further into the home, seeing a few strange objects, but with the same haste they'd been moving him, someone grabbed his elbow and tugged him away; his eye barely catching sight of a symbol on the wall that he'd recognized from somewhere.

"….take us as idiots!" _Bang._ "You know perfectly well that the Ministry has been infiltrated, Remus! You've to talk to Kingsley about this!"

As he'd been trying to process everything that he had just been put through for the past few hours, Draco Malfoy blinked and refocused himself back into the present. He was sitting in an old chair next to a redheaded Weasley twin, silence among everyone else on the table as Potter shouted. He was still a little dazed, but was quickly reminded of where he was when he looked down at his lap and saw those soft and fragile hands that belonged to the Brightest Witch of the Age.

"Harry," the werewolf sighed, his eyes looking tired, "we cannot put Kingsley into any situation where his position can be compromised. He's a great Auror, and an even better spy. If we begin to have him move things around for our complete benefit, they'll come after him. We can't lose him now."

"I don't trust them," Harry said through gritted teeth, his arms crossing over his heaving chest. "I hate to even say this, but ever since Fudge was sacked as Minister, the Ministry is untrustworthy. We've seen enough to know that not even the Aurors can be trusted. I just…."

And as the Boy-Who-Lived paused, taking a deep breath, Draco placed Granger's hands on the tabletop of where he sat. He watched them for a quick second, feeling like he could see rays of warmth come out of every line and wrinkle her skin had.

"We shouldn't have come back to Hogwarts, the three of us," Harry muttered, his green eyes looking at his shoes as Lupin waited for him to continue. "We put everyone else in danger by looming around them. Look at how many people were at the platform, Remus. What if…What if something had gone wrong and they got hurt?"

"If the Ministry's not to be trusted, Harry, they would've gotten hurt regardless," Remus said to Harry, his tone calm. "But like 'Dora is always saying, it's better to focus on what went right for the day than what could've gone wrong."

There was a freckle on one of her knuckles, Draco spotted it right away. It was on her left hand, on her ring finger. It was—"Since when has she said that?" Snorting from beside him, Malfoy was pulled away from his view on the freckle as the Weasley twin aimed a teasing glance at a woman with bright, pink hair. "Don't tell me you've lost your drink-a lot-party-hard-and-to-hell-with-the-world attitude, Tonks? Merlin, you've settled down—"

"Marriage and motherhood does that, doesn't it?" And from across Draco, there was the other twin who was wearing the same mocking glance. "My, you've become mature and dreary, my dear Nymphadora."

With eyes wide now, Draco zeroed his focus on that woman with pink hair. She was fuming from her stance next to the Weasley girl, her eyes igniting into a raging color and her hair into a flaming red that signified the current anger on her expression.

"Don't call me that!"

"Of course—"

"Our apologizes,"

"—Dearest Dora." The twins were grinning now.

And just as the werewolf had tossed his wife a look the pleaded her to settle herself, Draco was still very aware of the latter. There she was, Nymphadora Tonks—or Lupin now. His cousin, his family and blood. And as the idea seem so incredulous; because all he'd ever known was his parents and the mental Bellatrix, he couldn't help himself from staring.

"Back to the subject, please," Arthur Weasley cleared his throat, trying to bring back the attention to those in the dining room. "We've got to get moving in a few moments and we really need to get everything cleared before we depart."

Nodding once at the Order member, Remus turned back to Harry. "So, I assume everything's set in motion? You're going to tell us what our role is in order to help?"

"Erm…" Harry shared a glance with Ron, a secret passing through them before he turned to look at his ex professor again. "Actually, we can't really involve you in the plan, Remus."

"And before you lot begin to protest, we'd just like to say that not even _we_ know. She's keeping it a secret from us. She thinks that…She just wants to make sure the information stays with her in case we get split up or someone lets something slip," Ron chirped in, trying to defend them as Lupin began to frown.

Remus let out a disapproving sigh and leaned back into his chair. "It doesn't surprise me, actually, but that's Hermione for you, isn't it?"

Looking away from Tonks, Draco snapped the eyes he was borrowing towards his cousin's werewolf husband. The man had grey eyes that Draco had never noticed before, and they were surrounded by tiredness.

"You're absolutely sure about this, Hermione?"

Malfoy felt a surge of panic enter him as the werewolf talked to him, remembering what Granger had told him about not answering anything he didn't know.

Taking the silence from the brunette girl sitting next to George Weasley as hesitation, Remus threw her a sympathizing expression. "It's not easy what you're going to be doing, Hermione, and we all respect you for it. Dora and I have difficulty on a daily bases, but we go home mostly every night…"

"But, of course, you're always welcomed with us, sweetheart." And popping out of nowhere, Draco felt someone's hand on his borrowed-shoulder. And as he looked up to whoever was touching him, he saw a plump, redheaded woman that was no doubt Mrs. Weasley. "Our home's always opened for you and Harry, you know that."

A silence loomed among everyone in the dining room, looks of what could be interrupted as pity, understanding, sadness, supportive, loyalty, and admiration mixed as one and it was tossed to the brunette in the furthest corner of the long table.

"Alright, I think it's time to go," Arthur Weasley murdered the moment of silence as he took out a pocket-watch and shook his head at what he saw. "Say your goodbyes, Hermione."

Draco shot Granger's eyes open: where the hell where they taking him now? His unvoiced question remained so as someone pulled Granger's body up hectically; arms embracing her as Draco attempted to push away. All of it was in vain because, one, two, three, four and five, six, and seven people past him around.

Granger's hair was flying everywhere, obscuring his vision with brown curls that smelled like strawberries. He had given up for a moment as he was tossed to the Dynamic Duo, knowing that he was not going to be able to escape them. And as Potter gave him a sad smile, a fleeting hug, the Weasel was last to envelope Hermione in the tightest embrace.

_The stupid prat is so obvious_, Draco mused to himself, frowning as Weasley hugged Granger's body with ferocity that one would assume he was never going to see her again. He knew he was in love with her, but come on. He could have a little more self-will not to drool over the Bookworm in front of his family.

"Arthur," Lupin stood from his chair, "may I have a private word with Hermione before she departs?"

Looking down at his pocket-watch, Mister Weasley said, "two minutes, Remus. We've got places to be, you and me."

The people inside the dining room began to clear with Mrs. Weasley's command, her order adding for them to pick a room and begin to clean it for their stay. There were protests from the others, one especially loud groan from Ron, but they were silenced when her voice got louder and she threatened their lives.

Harry was the last to leave, his feet slowly moving out of the doorway as he gave Hermione one last sad smile. He could see that awful look in her eyes, like she hadn't a clue what to feel and do, and Harry hated himself a little more for it.

"—Don't worry, 'Mione, he's not going to badger you for information," Tonks waved her wand with a Silencing Charm spewing out, turning and giving the brunette a teasing smile. "He wanted to, of course, but he understands your need to keep it to yourself."

In Granger's body, Draco cleared the girl's throat and nodded once. He felt like he was about to go into a daze again as Nymphadora gave him a warm look, her eyes twinkling in a grey that matched her husband's.

"I hope you don't mind that I told Dora about your last letter to me, Hermione," Remus began speaking, taking out a square parchment from his trousers and showing the girl what he'd meant. "She's still an Auror so she might be able to help."

Draco was sinking into a further silence the more words were directed his way. What was he supposed to say? Stupid, bloody Bookworm hadn't mentioned anything to him.

Giving him some relief, Tonks proceeded with the conversation. "Remus and I…Well, we were quite surprised about your request, Hermione. Especially since you wanted no one else, not even Harry and Ron to know about it—"

"We just want to make sure you're absolutely sure about this," Remus cut in for his wife. "We know you're quite capable of taking care of yourself, but the idea of you asking to protect and think about letting a Slytherin classmate of yours into our protection… Well, you can see how we were a little skeptical about it. It wasn't hard to assume that this Blaise Zabini forced you into something."

"And then you mentioned the Greengrass family," Tonks added, "and that was even more bewildering for us. It took us a few days to consider it, but we know your kind heart, Hermione, so we went with it. We couldn't approach Mrs. Zabini, she's too in You-Know-Who's circle, but we promise to keep watch for her son when the moment comes.

"As for the Greengrass family, we talked to the father. He was scared out of his mind, for one, but he didn't want to accept our help. He said he knew that the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters were going to find him regardless…He just asked protection for his two daughters."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Remus gave Hermione a serious stare. "We're parents now, Hermione, and we understand the incredible lengths that someone would take in order to protect their children. So, we _will_ help as much as we could with this. You've our word that Blaise Zabini and the Greengrass girls will be as safe as we can make them."

Tonks placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder, squeezing it tight, but Draco was far gone now. He didn't hear anything else that came out of the woman's mouth, her werewolf's, or even as Mister Weasley poked his head in and told them it was time to go.

He'd asked Granger to keep an eye out for Blaise, to make sure that he hadn't too much pressure on his shoulders, and that he didn't get hurt or hurt himself while he was stuck as a Gryffindor. He wanted Granger to act as a babysitter almost, but this…

**X**

The walls were painted a very light, pastel, lilac-y color. It was soft, like a murmur on the walls instead of strong and pigmented shout. And hanging on these walls were various abstract paintings; paintings that gave the impression of flowers and spring all rolled into one squared confinement.

Behind the headboard of a bed that was boarded by the same shades of lilac, only blending out from the walls by the texture of the sheets and the sky-blue pillows, the wall there was decorated differently. There was no pop of flowery art, but a different sort of art captured in a collage plastered together. They were pictures, some with that essence of magic that could only make them move, and others still and completely ordinary.

Uneasy, he took a step towards the headboard of the girlish bed to get a better look of those photographs.

There were pictures of her, of Granger as a child. She was so small with big curly hair and such a toothy smile. She was often with an adult in the pictures, her parents, presumably, but there was also a few of her with other children. There was something in her eyes, those still eyes on those muggle pictures that made it seem like the air she was submerged in was so easy; like childhood was nothing but pictures and those ridiculous smiles she was sporting.

It was different from what he could remember from his childhood, those moments in the pictures. There were smiles, hugs, kisses, and friends in them. All he could recall from his was lessons on how to sit properly, how to eat properly, how to behave properly, and books given on how to think properly. His childhood was in shades of a murky grey, while Granger's were painted with the breezy lilac color on her walls.

The collage expanded, and he looked at the ones that moved. There was Potter, Weasley, and she in what he was sure was their First Year. They were standing tightly together, laughter radiating out of them like it was impossible to be contained. She still had that happiness in her brown eyes, but for a moment as she blinked in the picture, there was also a glimmer of worry that no little girl should have.

More of those pictures of the Golden Trio were spread among the collage. There were birthdays, moments in their common room, on the train, inside a small room, in the grounds of Hogwarts, and in a field with chickens and pigs. Scattered among them, there were also pictures of Granger with other Gryffindors, with some Weasleys, Sirius Black and the werewolf, and even of her and Tonks.

And even though he didn't have half as many pictures—not even one-fourth of the ones in her collage—that's not what he focused on. As the pictures moved, laughs were shared, hugs were given, memories were made, he could see her eyes twinkling more and more with worry. With this exhaustion that was apparent around her eyes, the brown in them less bright.

He lifted one of those borrowed and fragile fingers of hers and he traced the fingertip of it over her face in a picture where she was wrapped in a thick, ruby scar, the Weaslette beside her with a matching scarf around her neck too. He wanted to say that the tiredness in Granger's face came from being Potter's friend, but he knew he'd be wrong. Sure, it was one of the factors, a main one, but there was also another very apparent reason.

The war was unavoidable since the moment Potter defeated the Dark Lord when he was a baby, when his mother died to save him and he became the Boy-Who-Lived. A fool could even see that everything that was going on now—the Dark Lord rising, Death Eaters, and all the murders—was just the way things were going to go. And because things were happening the way they were supposed to, Granger was _always_ going to be a target. She was a Muggle-born; she was automatically considered one of the names in the walking-dead.

And as he thought of that, as he thought of Granger's could-be short life, he shook his borrowed-head and removed the fingertip from her picture. He didn't want to think about it, didn't even want to begin to imagine how death would be brought to her. He'd almost gotten the sight to that the previous summer, in his home, by his aunt, and he couldn't let the memory resurface.

Sighing to himself, he turned away from Granger's wall and continued to look around her room. There was a weird looking chair that had wheels on it, had a spiral spine, and sat tucked into her desk. And on her desk was this even weirder contraption he'd ever seen, it was like a metallic box with a glass screen. Disregarding it, no doubt a muggle device, he bent slightly on her knees to get a closer look at the floor-bookcase she had.

_Typical_, he snorted in his head, running that fragile finger over the spine of books as he read their titles.

And as he did so, as he continued to explore the personal collection of the Brightest Witch of the Age, he didn't bother to hear the footsteps approaching from outside Hermione's bedroom. Lost he was in the fact that he was deeper into the personal space of the Bookworm, a place he wondered if Potter or the Weasel ever had been, that he didn't hear when someone twisted the doorknob of the door and pushed it open.

"_Hermione_."

Startled away from a book entitled _Romeo and Juliet_, Draco spun himself around on Granger's heels to the sound of a voice that disrupted him; her wand out in a flash.

Standing by the entrance of the lilac-y room was a woman he didn't know or ever ran into before. She had long, straight brown hair and big, brown doe-like eyes—ones that were identical to the ones Hermione Granger owned. This woman with soft features, warm expression, defined nose, and high cheekbones was the Bookworm's mother.

_Say something, Draco. You're Granger. Say something_, he was urging himself, but nothing came out. He was just frozen now, Granger's heart beating in his chest so loudly that he was sure her muggle mother could hear it.

"Oh, my beautiful girl," the woman said, her voice just as warm and sweet as her face looked. And with a longing and strong sense of nostalgia in her chest, Jean Granger headed her way to her daughter; arms wide. "Come here, love."

He'd been about to take a step away, about to recoil away from the muggle's arms, but he lost the will and the attempt to. The woman was hugging him—hugging her daughter so tightly that she wasn't aware it was hurting her daughter's chest and the boy currently possessing her body.

"Your dad had a bit of an emergency in the office, but he'll be here soon," the woman murmured, still embracing tightly. "Oh, I've missed you, Hermione."

Recalling those plain and unmoving pictures of Granger's childhood, Malfoy could now understand why her eyes gleamed with happiness; why her smiles were so grand they had to have hurt her cheeks.

It was because of this; because from the moment she came into the world, from the moment she was given to these muggles, that she was surrounded by love—pure love. The type that made your eyes glitter with happiness, with warmth; that made you grin like there was nothing to be afraid of, nothing to ever run from; it was the type of love that passed into your bones and you couldn't help but want to give it to as many people as you could. It was the one that made you care for anyone, to want to defend the world.

Remembering what Granger had done for Blaise, for Daphne, even, he also recalled Tonks' comment about her noble heart; about how much Granger cared for anyone and anything, he decided to act now.

So as a small way of redemption, he hugged the woman back. "I missed you too, mum," he whispered to her, hoping that if there was anything he'd do right, it would be to make sure Granger's parents enjoyed some time with their daughter before the unavoidable finally caught up to her.


	10. Survival of the Fittest

**This Is War**

**Chapter Nine: **Survival of the Fittest

She was stepping into one of her nightmares.

It started the way they all did, except she wasn't being dragged by the roots of her brown curls and she wasn't fighting with a kick and a scream with Harry and Ron beside her. No, she willingly walked into the darkness that those nightmares began and on her own.

She marched through the darkened gates that had once placed her on the opposite side of the enemy line that she now crossed freely. She heard the feet beneath her hit the pebble pathway. One, two, three, four, five and then she was walking up ancient marbled stairs and into a once majestic entrance.

The feeling she got as soon as she entered was the same like in those nightmares; it was that of paralyzing fear the mingled with Death circling inside that prestigious home. It was colder than what she remembered, but definitely just as dark.

She was inside Malfoy Manor.

Before she could grow frozen with uneasiness, before her chest felt hallow, before her lungs solidified the air in them, Hermione had to recall the instructions she had received and the plan she had come up with to survive this.

"Veda," she whispered in such a low voice that she barely heard herself say it.

With a _pop_, Hermione felt a millimeter of pressure ease as a little creature appeared before her. It was a house-elf. She had bright purple eyes, big like tennis balls, and rimmed with thick eyelashes. Her nose was pointy and long, just like her arms and legs that poked out of a clean pillowcase she was clothed in.

"Master said you'd be coming." The house-elf bowed immediately, and from her position she mumbled, "_Miss_."

Clearing her throat from the uncomfortable situation—because she never liked being at the end of a house-elf bowing at her or the bewilderment that seeped into her as Malfoy had discussed with his personal slave about the situation he was in—Hermione reminded herself that she had to keep a Draco-Malfoy-presence. "Can you show me to…his room?"

Veda bowed a little deeper, and then proceeded to nod as she straightened herself up. "Of course, Miss. Master told Veda to do so." She grabbed one of her Master's hands that the girl was using, and then a _pop_ echoed inside his ears that had Hermione wincing.

Stabilizing Malfoy's feet on the lonesome hall they had just appeared into, Hermione felt dizzy and colder.

"Master said to Veda to remain unseen," the house-elf informed the person invading her Master's body. "Master said to always be behind Miss for protection."

"It's fine," Hermione breathed, trying to push out the specs of little lights that spotted her vision, "just a warning next time, please. I don't have the strongest senses these days."

Veda bowed at the figure of her Master again. "As you wish, Miss," she said obediently before standing back to a straight position. "This door leads to my young Master's bedroom. Master says Miss must stay in there at all times and must not leave to explore anything. Veda will be watching."

Looking around the dark hall they were in that was barely dimmed by a few lamps hanging at the corners, Hermione noticed that all that the walls had were paintings and portraits but no other doors. There was just one, one that she was currently standing in front of that was made by black wood.

"If I vomited over your…Master's floor, would you tell on me?" Hermione blinked down at the small house-elf, her eyes full of questioning as she felt of wave of nausea hit her at what her life had come to.

"Veda doesn't know when Veda will see her real Master," the house-elf replied. "But Veda is supposed to tell her Master everything."

Hermione rolled the silver eyes she was borrowing from the house-elf's dear Master Draco. "I'll take that as a yes, then." Before her borrowed-hand could clutch onto the metal handle of the door, she turned back to the house-elf. "Stay close, please."

The last sentence wasn't much, but Veda could hear the fear, nervousness and panic in those single three words. And as she blinked her purple eyes at the ones of her Master, she knew that behind the silver eyes that were always molten metal, a girl who'd been through a lot waited behind them.

"Veda will, Miss," she told the intruder, bowing slightly before encouraging her to get inside.

Nodding once, Hermione twisted the cold handle and pushed open the door slowly. It was dark, just like it was expected. But before Veda vanished, the house-elf snapped her fingers and a dim candlelight, alike the one outside in the hall, illuminated the room slightly.

She slowly walked in, swallowing an uneasy knot that was forming in Malfoy's throat, and she closed the door behind her.

There was a grand bed pressed against the middle marble wall of the room. It was dressed in black silk sheets, she could tell from her place; no doubt expensive and the real thing. The pillows over the bed were also covered in black, but there were other pillows behind those that were covered in deep emerald.

This, Hermione could tell as she scanned the room from where she stood, was the primary color-scheme of Malfoy's bedroom. Black bed; black furniture; black marbled walls; black lamps, some that gave a green tint; and emerald carpet that served as ground. The only thing that was a little different from the all-black was a banner with silver and emerald over his bed that represented his Slytherin-pride.

Feeling a little more at ease that she wasn't attacked by anything, Hermione stepped further into the room to inspect it. And as she did so, with every deliberate and steady step, she knew what was instantly wrong with it. (Other than it being Malfoy's bedroom, of course.) The room was elegant in a gothic way with exquisite dressers and leather armchairs, but it was empty. There was no warmth, no color, and no noise that could fill it.

Her mother had always told her—when they were buying lilac paint for her room the summer she was fifteen—that a bedroom was one of the only spaces where one could express themselves fully. It was your own little sanctuary. It was a place you could do and say anything you wanted. It was like a mirror of who you were and what was inside your head.

And as a minute past and then two, Hermione knew this room was half wrong. Yes, she believed Malfoy was empty and cold and dark like his bedroom and silk sheets, but at the same time he wasn't. He wasn't all black—he also had to have specs of colors in his soul, right?

_Knock. Knock._

As she'd been contemplating that, Hermione shot Malfoy's spine straight as a knocking on his door echoed in his hallow room.

_Knock. Knock. _

The borrowed-heart that was sustaining her started beating incredibly fast as she turned to the door. She knew she had to open it; she couldn't escape this place because she wasn't a hostage for once. She was Draco Malfoy, and he had family here.

_Knock. Knock._

She pulled out his wand from the pocket of his trousers, and with a deep inhale she moved his wrist and allowed a spell to open the door for her. And right as it did, right as it was opening, she held that wand tightly between Malfoy's long fingers and pointed it forward with determination and hate.

"Oi!" Entering the room, eyes wide as he was greeted with a pointed-wand, Theodore Nott raised his palms to demonstrate his lack of threat. "For Salazar's sake, Malfoy, lower your wand. It's just me, you maniac."

Lessening the stiffness she was feeling, Hermione pointed the wand away from Nott's face and waved it to the door; making it close. "I wasn't really expecting you," she told the boy with Malfoy's indifferent tone as relief washed into her.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't really expecting to be here now, was I?" Theo scoffed as he tossed himself rudely on one of the black-leathered armchairs in the corner of the room. "I assume that's my own fault, though. Guess I was too naïve to believe we'd be having a proper dinner as a family now that I'm home for the holidays."

Hermione made Malfoy's feet lead her towards the armchair across Nott's. "No pre-Christmas sweets, then?" She added to Malfoy's flare by putting his feet on top of the circular table that separated the two armchairs. (She was sure he was an arrogant git in his own home.)

"I won't be waiting for a post-Christmas turkey either," Nott scoffed, crossing his arms with a frown on his face. "Apparently Father has other plans for me this holiday. Not that I find it odd. I'm a sudden slave these days."

"Meaning?"

Theodore looked up at his fellow Slytherin, his blue eyes narrowing. "It means exactly what it does, Malfoy," his voice came out low and tensed. "Instead of enjoying days away from Hogwarts, I've to go out there and fight some damn battle that's not mine."

Hermione raised a blonde brow at the boy across from her. "Then don't," she replied in a tone that was much more her own than it was Malfoy's; in a way that was sympathetic yet scolding. "Don't do it, Nott. Don't go."

Theodore stared at his friend before him like he lost all his marbles, like he didn't know where his statement was coming from and why it came out in the first place. "And what, Malfoy, get killed?" His eyes showed no acknowledgment to his friend's suggestion. "Just because you couldn't complete a task the Dark Lord set out for you to do doesn't mean we get the same privilege if _we_ fail."

Before Nott, Draco Malfoy tensed his shoulders and pressed his lips into a tight line. There was a flicker of irritation, of confusion, and of discomfort in his eyes before he settled his expression into a blank stare.

Not taking the obvious point that he didn't want to get into it anymore, to forget what he'd said, Theodore continued with the same frustration he'd spoken with previously. "I don't _want_ to be out there, Malfoy. I don't want to fight and be a part of some stupid strategic move to maim the Light Side and Potter, but I _have_ to. It's duty. It's my responsibility. And according to my father, it's my order as his son."

And not helping herself, not helping herself to control her own flare of disgust though she knew what Nott was saying was what Malfoy believed in, she snarled, "Right, Nott. Be a murderer. Go out there and kill on your father's orders."

"It's not simple!" Theo snarled back. "Do you think we want to become you? Do you think any of the other Pureblood families want to follow the example you and your family have become? Salazar, Malfoy, wake up! If we disobey or fail the Dark Lord we'll become prisoners in our own home like you've become!"

Hermione widened the eyes she was borrowing, shock seeping into Malfoy's eyeballs. What was Nott saying? What was he hinting at about the Malfoys? What had Malfoy decided not to tell her before she came into his home to impersonate him? Is that the reason why he'd chosen to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays? Had _she_ brought him back into a danger he was trying to avoid?

Usually Draco was a mastermind on controlling his emotions; of masking his expressions from the world, Theodore knew. From his armchair across from him, however, Theodore could see his friend's eyes flash with all emotions like a swirl of leaves during a windy day. There was anger, frustration, betrayal, confusion, worry, and even sympathy.

Sighing to himself, Theodore rose from the armchair. "Draco," he called no longer angry, "I'm just doing what I need to do to survive, mate. I'm doing what I'm required to do for my life and my family's. I don't want your fate, nor do I want what happened to Daphne's mother to happen to mine. It's nothing personal."

For the first time in her time in impersonating Malfoy, Hermione felt a sense of liking for Theodore Nott. As her former self, she'd never given him much thought because he usually behaved himself and didn't cross the line like Malfoy loved to do. Now she found that—though he was crude and had a way of being a jerk—he was honest. And though she disagreed in his methods, honesty was something she appreciated.

Not that she could really tell him that, or give a comment on all he'd said because she certainly hadn't a clue about it, Hermione cleared Malfoy's throat and asked, "Why are you here, Nott?"

"I was told to find you," Theodore said, his blue eyes glowing with something that made Hermione feel nervous. "There's a meeting and our services are required."

**X**

She had gone into a complete frozen and shocked state when Malfoy's feet led themselves and her to follow after Nott. She hadn't been able to move, hadn't been able to speak on her behalf when they walked down several halls and flight of stairs.

She'd fought with Malfoy about staying inside his room the time she was to stay at Malfoy Manor, but she secretly hoped that's how it would happen. She'd hoped that she would catch up on some homework, study something, investigate the body-swap they were in, and write a few letters while occasionally having to deal with his parents. She knew there would be no way to avoid them forever, but she was going to work on that when the moment arose.

However, things were different at the current moment that interfered with her assumptions. She hadn't known about anything Nott had hinted at to be true. She hadn't, even for a moment, _believed_ that the Malfoys were prisoners in their own home; a home that was serving as a headquarters for Death Eaters and certainly not for You-Know-Who.

But, alas, through her horror and utter shock she had sat through a meeting with notorious Death Eaters. Snape had been there, taking role as an informative and leader—much to the obvious distaste of a few Death Eaters—while their precious Dark Lord was abroad with the company of Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange. And while she was sitting in a chair as Malfoy, Nott beside him, Hermione was able to see Snape throw his Godson a few calculating stares.

Before feeling like she was about to get caught—because she was sure if there was one person who could figure her out by her complete distress and repulsion, it would be Dumbledore's murderer—someone had gripped the collar of Malfoy's robes and dragged him out of his chair along with Nott and a few others following; treated with the same force.

So there she was now, down in the cellar of Malfoy Manor. It was just as cold down there as it had been throughout the rest of the mansion, but the feel of death and despair was definitely thicker. It was suffocating. And it was apparent and heavy like a cloud ready to drop vapor.

"Well, here we are then. Fresh batch of the day." Though there had been many adult Death Eaters in the meeting and that had helped drag a group down to the cellar, the only one that stayed behind with a merry voice was a Death Eater Hermione knew as Yaxley.

Yaxley turned to face the throng of people behind him, a nasty smile on his face. "Well, then, who's going first?" He said to them, scanning them as he did so.

There was a deep silence among the people he was looking at.

"Shame," he sighed dramatically. "None of you are itching to get on with today's activities, then? In that case, I'll choose." Pulling out his wand from his robes, Yaxley pointed it at one of that blank and statuesque faces staring back at him. "Miss Parkinson, it's your lucky day."

In all her hurry, in all of her turmoil and panic, Hermione had not seen Pansy Parkinson in the blur of people. But turning Malfoy's head to peer over his shoulder so she could get a view, Hermione found the pug-faced witch—in fact, she found four Slytherin students from Hogwarts.

Pansy stiffened her shoulders, her body visibly going rigid as her black eyes narrowed at the Death Eater and his sneer.

"Come on now, deary," Yaxley motioned the girl forward. And as Pansy hesitated, as she stood frozen on her feet in the cellar, Yaxley snarled at her. "_Now_!"

Immediately, Pansy marched forward against her will. Before she reached the man, however, her dark eyes blinked up and met those of Draco and Theo. There was something in them, something both boys recognized even though the eye-contact lasted less than a second.

"That's a good girl. Now, let me introduce you to our guests." Putting a rough hand on the girl's back, Yaxley led her towards the furthest ends of the cellar. And as they walked, as the throng of teenagers that were in the background followed, the cellar lit up.

She didn't want to. Merlin, she really didn't want to follow after that sick man and her classmates, but Hermione had no other choice when Nott pushed her forward. (The selfish bastard unwilling to go by himself, she knew.) But there she went, shaking with every step Malfoy's body gave and the lights illuminated what she feared to see.

But like it's always said that there shall always come a time in one's life when you're bound to face your fears, Hermione wanted to combust into a thousand pieces when Yaxley and Parkinson stopped before a wall that held chained victims that were placed under the Silencing Charm.

"Children," Yaxley's voice was loud and it echoed, "meet our first guest. This is Michael Bletchley." He pointed his wand to a man covered in bruises and blood. And from where Hermione and the others stood, she could see a thick cut on his forehead that read: BLOOD TRAITOR. "Mister Bletchley here decided that it was in his power to save the lives of muggle scum that he was supposed to dispose of."

The chained and branded man narrowed his eyes at Yaxley, his lips tight into a line.

With a sneer, Yaxley turned his attention towards the person next to the Blood Traitor. "Next we have Dedalus Diggle; member of the Order of the Phoenix."

Less damaged than the man chained on his left, the Order member looked at the people before him with complete bravery. There was no fear in his eyes; nothing but the acceptance of death— not if, but _when_ it would come—and his loyalty glittering in his eyes.

And catching that, Yaxley frowned. "I'm sure you're incredibly proud to be dying for Potter, Diggle, but let me assure you, we'll try our hardest to strip you from it," he snapped and then pointed his wand to the next prisoners. "Then we got Russell and Rebecca Dodge; grandchildren to a pesky old man that has the need to shout support for the Boy-Who-Lived and the deceased Dumbledore."

Chained together, twin brother and sister, Russell and Rebecca shook in fear at the mere sight of Yaxley. There was something in their blue eyes that made Hermione think they'd already suffered at his hands.

"And finally," with a hand back on Pansy's back, Yaxley steered her to the last prisoner in the cellar, "those of you who've an excellent memory will recognize our last guest."

Taking a single step away from Nott's side, Hermione got a much closer look to whom Yaxley was referring to. And like she'd been slapped across the face, Hermione's heart broke as she hated to recognize the bruised and bloody face.

"This is your task for the day, Miss Parkinson. You're to show this Mudblood her place," Yaxley snapped at Pansy as he nudged her forward.

And before Yaxley could turn back to the rest of the teenagers, he flicked his wand and Penelope Clearwater's panicked breaths bounced off the walls.

"Go on now, Miss Parkinson," the man ordered. "Go on before you join her!"

Instantly, Pansy raised her wand, and with a voice that shook along with her hand, she shouted, "_Crucio_!"

Penelope's frightened breaths turned into a full-out, earsplitting and shrill scream.

And satisfied as Pansy kept her wand firm over the prisoner, Yaxley finally turned to address to the others. "These are people who've wronged the Dark Lord," he spoke with a tone as if he was teaching something to children, "and we, as his loyal followers, have the duty to help him rid the people that offend him.

"Now, get to it," his voice went rough now. "Serve your Master and dispose of the trash!" He snarled at them before heading out to the exit of the cellar.

One by one those four others present in the cellar descended. They headed towards the prisoners with their wands out; cold and dead looks in their eyes.

Theodore looked at Malfoy, that same dead and gone look in his blue eyes as he slowly took out his wand from his pocket. "Survival," he said to his friend, noticing the disgust on his face. And then he left and headed for the man they branded a Blood Traitor.

Hermione could feel Malfoy's chest tighten from her overload of emotions spinning and spinning inside of him. And as she felt dizzy, some things blurring out, she could see Pansy continuing to make Penelope Clearwater cry and scream and wither in pain.

'…_.Pansy hasn't always been an entirely awful person,' _and as Pansy held her wand forward between shaking fingers, Hermione was flooded with what Daphne had said to her as Malfoy. _'She just adapts to what's going to benefit her—she wanted to do the right thing, to support the Dark Lord without a retort. She just wants to survive.'_

Survival, it was the same thing Nott had said. And as she watched in complete horror as her classmates hurt and tortured people with their own sins and their own innocence, Hermione wondered for a split second if that's why Malfoy did what did. Had he tried to murder Dumbledore for his own survival?

"—Argh!"

"—_Crucio_!"

"—Stop! Please!"

"—_Confringo_!"

"—Please!"

"—_Avada Kedavra_!"

Once Dedalus Diggle's body spluttered onto the cellar floor, his chains still wrapped around his wrists, Hermione could not keep her part as Draco Malfoy and bolted right out of the cellar.

As she was doing so, after she banged open the door and raced up the stairs that could get her away from there, a pair of arms grabbed onto her; a hand slapping over Malfoy's mouth to keep her from screaming.

"Quiet. Quiet."

She was thrown into a room roughly; landing on a Persian-looking rug as the person who'd taken her cast a Silencing Charm at the walls.

It was Severus Snape.

"I can't," she cried, not strong enough to keep pretending to be the Malfoy heir. She couldn't be strong, couldn't be determined. This place broke her. This place tore her away from her will and her determination and her hope again. "Those people…they're _killing_ them!"

"Keep it together, _Draco_," Snape snapped in his usual drawling voice. "Keep thrashing and blubbering about like a whiny child and you'll put yourself in a place you rather not find yourself in."

Hermione shook Malfoy's head, but her sobs stopped. Despite her broken heart, her broken strength, and the looks of broken faces on those prisoners, she felt cold blood run from the inside as she realized who was standing in front of her.

Looking down from his hooked nose at the figure of his Godson, Snape crossed his arms over his chest with disapproval on his face. "They'll inform Yaxley that you ran out," he spoke once more. "Just like the Slytherins they are. Not to worry though, you'll be safe once I tell Yaxley I needed you on another task."

Hermione sniffled, bringing one of Malfoy's hands to his face and wiping the tears she made him spill.

"I'm here to keep an eye out for you," Snape continued, knowing well enough that he was not going to get anything from the person before him. "It took some convincing to persuade the Dark Lord, but his departure came at the precise moment it seems."

Hermione worked on her breathing, on shaking off the hysterics she'd gone into down at the cellar. She could still hear them screaming; Malfoy's eardrums were humming with it. She could still see Penelope Clearwater's tortured face and the carved BLOOD TRAITOR on that man's forehead that was no doubt work of Bellatrix Lestrange.

And as that thought brought back a memory of her own, a hand automatically reaching for the arm that carried _her_ mark, Hermione found that it wasn't there. Instead Voldemort's mark laid there for she obviously wasn't in her body.

"I'll keep you away from these certain activities for as long as you're here," Snape went on once more, his black eyes into slits as the person before him let out another weak tear. "As for now, you're to stay inside the room like you were ordered."

At that, Hermione snapped Malfoy's head up to look at her old Potions professor.

Snape continued to look back with no emotion, but a glitter of mock burned into his dark eyes. "_Veda_," he called aloud.

Not a moment later a _pop_ bounced around the room and the house-elf that knew Hermione and Draco's secret appeared once more.

"Take our young Mister Malfoy to his bedroom," Snape ordered. "And make sure he doesn't come out and that no one comes in."

With an obeying nod and a bow, Veda turned to the girl that was impersonating her Master and reached for her hand. And without the warning she had previously asked for, Hermione disappeared along with the house-elf and left Snape behind.


	11. Parents and Appearances

**This Is War**

**Chapter Ten: **Parents and Appearances**  
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He had been raised to hate it all, all which was considered to be beneath him and his blood status. Every flash of childhood memories was filled with at least one 'A Malfoy has never' or an 'A Pureblood would never,' comment from his father. He was given guidelines that were expected out of him because he was a Malfoy and a Pureblood and such as, the rules were unavoidable.

He had never questioned them, the rules or his parents. After all, your parents know everything that there is to know, and you're raised to know that questioning their decisions or choices or actions was unadvised. He just did what he was told to; felt what he was given; and acted with what he saw. Questioning that tangible hatred for what was considered beneath him never fazed him, not at the slightest because he very much enjoyed his status.

Things, of course, change and he once again found himself cursed by an undesired circumstance in life that challenged his ideals and his lessons learned from toddler years.

"Are you enjoying breakfast, love?"

Blinking away from thoughts that he very much would like to never scrutinize, Draco found a woman smiling at him with incredible warmth. In the slow second that his mind was somewhere else, he hadn't a clue who she was, but after he adjusted it and those big brown eyes matched the ones he knew belonged to an enemy, he settled himself instantly.

"I know it's nothing like that extravagant and confusing food you're used to from Hogwarts or Mrs. Weasley, but it's homemade and straight from your own mother," the woman continued. "And besides, it's French toast. Still your favorite, right?"

"What's her favorite?" Entering the kitchen that was decorated in earthy colors—shades of various browns, greens, yellows, and oranges; the same never-one-color plates and mugs; and sunshine-yellow curtains parted in the main kitchen window—was a man with his bathrobe still on.

And as this man settled himself in an empty chair on the wooden circular table with orange place-mats, the woman across from Draco rolled her eyes in annoyance. "For goodness sake, Richard, do you know what time it is? You've practically slept all through the morning."

"Woman, please," the man called back, frowning at the woman as he poured himself some tea into a brown ceramic mug. "It's the weekend, do lower your voice."

Decreasing his peripheral vision of the man, like he hoped by doing so he couldn't be seen, Draco observed the man in a few silent seconds.

The man was the essence of something extreme, something that could easily put you off. There was a way that his expression oozed seriousness; that radiated a sense of accuracy and knowledge that made you never want to challenge or cross him. He had sun-kissed skin; hair dark as night and eyes that matched it; a beard that highlighted his strong presence.

"You would think I married a complete nuisance," the woman said firmly as she crossed her arms in displeasure. "You're nothing but appearances, aren't you?"

The man stood from the chair he'd taken and headed towards the kitchen counter. "You married me for my money which is more accurate, Jean." He turned back to them with a plate of breakfast that was reserved for him. "I do always remember that fact."

The woman had been about to retaliate when her brown eyes narrowed and a flash of disapproval crossed her; which then faded into a light resignation. "Oh, Richard. You're wearing those pink, fluffy slippers again. You're such a lost cost, sweetheart."

"You leave my slippers out of this," the man warned with a rough voice. "Hermione likes them, anyway. So your say is invalid, thank you very much."

And as Draco knitted brows in confusion, he felt that intimidating man placed his lips on the monstrosity of hair he as currently borrowing from his daughter.

"She liked them when she was four and bought them for you on your birthday," Mrs. Granger told her husband, a light irritation still on her voice but her eyes didn't match it. "You're just a sentimental man that refuses to throw away things when they're of no use."

"She's my little girl, of course I'm a sentimental fool," the man confessed, that strong presence fading away instantly as he looked up at his quiet daughter and smiled a smile that matched the warmth his wife used.

Jean Granger rolled her eyes and refilled her cup of tea. "She won't be for long. She'll turn eighteen soon, remember, sweetheart? At the rate she's growing up she'll be married and with her own kids before we know it."

At his wife's words, Richard Granger scowled. "And who is worthy enough of our only daughter?" And before the woman beside him could answer, the man turned to his teenage daughter. "It better not be the Ron Weasley, Hermione."

Without helping himself, Draco widened Granger's eyes with a disgust flickering on them. Sure, he knew he should probably play the card, as he was almost entirely sure that the Bookworm was head over heels for that idiot Weasel, but he still wished to keep his taste. Hopefully that way, in the long run, he'd do Granger a favor by steering her away from poor redheads and towards someone a little more on her level.

He frowned to himself as he processed his lost thought. What and who exactly was on Granger's level? Why had he just thought of it? And why did he have the slightest nudge of optimism that hoped that she really didn't fancy the Weasel like everyone speculated?

"He's a nice boy, Richard," Jean told her husband, interrupting Draco's personal thoughts inside her daughter's head. "And besides, you like him."

Richard rolled his dark eyes. "I just say that so Hermione won't swat me beside the head. But seeing as she looks ill at the mention of his name, I'm hoping she finally saw reason and moved on to someone with a little more knowledge."

"Someone like Harry Potter?"

"Yes, in fact," Richard responded to his wife's question. "Hermione has said he was raised in our world, Jean. He knows what it's like, what we do. And if she insists on spending all her time with those two then at least I hope she goes for someone who values her world. Yes, she's a witch, but she also came from us. I want that to count for something."

_It does count for something_, Draco thought to himself bitterly, _but not in the way you'd expect. _

"Harry's like her brother, Richard; Hermione has said so on many occasions. Let's just leave it at that because you know if she showed any interest in Harry you'd hate him too." Jean gave the man a knowing look.

Looking up from his French toast, Mister Granger flashed a grin at his daughter. "Alright, sweetheart, what do you have planned for us now that you're home?" He asked, all eager to leave behind the distasteful subject of boys that could possibly be involved with his only daughter. "Your mum and I have closed the Dentistry for all your holiday so feel free to go wild. It's adventure time."

"She had syrup on her toast, Richard. That's as wild and adventurous as she's going to get."

At that, at the casual way Mrs. Granger spoke about her daughter, Draco couldn't help but to laugh loudly at it. These muggles knew perfectly well who their little Bookworm daughter was that even they had to tease her lightly about it.

At the sound of their daughter laughing so wholeheartedly, both Mister and Mrs. Granger looked up at her with twinkling eyes; smiles and their own rounds of laughter.

And as they did so, as they stared at who they thought Draco was, he matched their expressions and their glittering eyes with the ones in those muggle photographs Granger had on her bedroom wall.

It was them. They were the reason for it, the reason for that sparkle in her brown eyes. They were the reason why her childhood pictures were nothing but smiles and ridiculous faces. They were the reason that she was and had been happy and whole.

In that small and precise moment, he now knew why Granger was who she was. She was the perfect mixture of both her parents. And even though he'd never really heard her crack a joke before, he was certain that all those beaming photographs with her Gryffindors were for a reason; because she probably was great to be around with.

As the laughter died down and Mister Granger rose up on his pink and fluffy slippers, he spoke to his daughter. "Go and distress yourself for a while, darling. Mum and I will call you down when it's time to head out."

With a kiss upon Granger's head again, Draco smiled at her father and then proceeded to march off to her bedroom with a little ease.

**X**

Muggle [Noun]

1. A person with non-magical abilities

2. A person not aware of the supernatural

3. A person of unintelligent and proper background

4. A race of human beings meant to be wiped out and/or contained

The definition of that word could have kept getting darker and darker as he continued to think about it, but at the moment he decided not to. Nothing that he had learned, nothing that he'd been taught by his parents and by other Purebloods mattered.

Muggles were a strange group of people, he had to admit, but they did wonders with the plain and simple resources they were given. They had built a world for themselves with very limited supplies; until they grew and extended them. It had to have been hard work, but they did it and evolved without a wand.

Thrust into a world that he'd been taught to despise with every fiber of his being, Draco Malfoy actually found himself captivated by what he saw; even if in the slightest. He, of course, would _never_ give up his magic even if the Dark Lord demanded him of it, but the Muggle world was certainly something.

He had spent the day out in the streets of Muggle London—he'd been out of the confined walls of his precious Wizarding and Pureblood World and saw that Life extended so far. He'd seen that there were many places outside their undercover barriers that separated them; he'd seen another race live and breathe and mingle together, so unaware of everything else.

There had been freedom in the air as he walked through the streets of Muggle London. No one looked at him with disgust or distrust or curious glances. In return, he didn't look at them with distrust or disgust either, though there was plenty of curiosity on his part. How could there not be, after all? They went about their day like it was normal. There was nothing on their faces that resembled the ones back in his world.

Those Muggles did not walk with fear following them, with a cloud of Death lingering over their heads, or the pressure of war on their shoulders. They just lived. It was incredible, that freedom. The taste of clean air was tainted with nothing magical, but he supposed that's where the magic was. He hadn't felt so light in years.

"Hermione, dear, have you enjoyed yourself so far?"

Inhaling the easy atmosphere around him, Draco turned Granger's body around to face the girl's parents. There was an easy smile on his face as the two muggles entered their own living room with shopping bags and illuminated faces from their previous outing.

"Yes, Mum," Draco replied to Mrs. Granger with that warm feel she'd inherited to her little Bookworm of a daughter.

"Are you sure, darling?" Mrs. Granger pressed as she seated herself on her beige-colored couch. "You were very quiet throughout it."

Putting a comforting hand on his wife's knee, Mister Granger looked up at his daughter with a slight frown. "I hope you're not upset with us because we didn't allow you to spend the entire holiday with your friends."

Draco shook Granger's head, making her brown hair fly all around him. There was this aroma of strawberry and sunshine in it that almost made him stop and wonder how he'd never smelt it before in the days he's been her. "It's not that, father," he replied quickly, replacing the thought, "I was just so…eased to be out. It felt nice."

The man replaced his expression with a much lighter one. "Well, that's good to hear, darling. I know it can get a bit tiring and boring hanging out with your folks, but we do miss you. The house gets so lonely without you, sweetheart."

Draco said nothing; he just smiled at the man. Though he was a muggle, Draco couldn't help but to be a little intrigued by Granger's father. There was something about his rough exterior that seemed almost unreachable and impossible, but when he looked at his wife or when he looked at the person he thought was his daughter all of that disappeared. He was a man who loved his family. He was someone with deep warmth and love that extended to the two only people in his life.

And as he inspected Richard Granger, Draco assumed that his curiosity for the muggle man was because he reminded him of his mother. Because Narcissa Malfoy was frozen and still as ice on the outside, but Draco had always been able to see fire behind her eyelids that was composed of love and affection for her family.

His mother could never be what Mrs. Granger was for the Bookworm, he knew that. She would never be the affectionate type, the one with the sweet nicknames, the small caresses, the smiles, but she did have warmth. It was hidden, like a spark of lightening in dismal rain, but it was there.

And though they were two very different women, Draco was aware that Mrs. Granger was at the line of losing her only child just like his own mother; except one knew it and the other didn't. And he knew that if the muggle woman knew what danger lurked in the world they trusted her daughter to be a part of that she'd fight for her survival.

"Of course, that's me being a sentimental fool like your mum's always saying, but we shall ignore her, right? She doesn't understand that you and I, kid, are bound by that daddy's-little-girl bond and that I'll refuse the Weasleys taking you in for the holidays."

Draco looked at the man again, at his adoring eyes as he thought he was staring at his 'little girl'. And for a moment he wondered what this muggle could and would be capable of if _he_ knew that his daughter was in danger.

Would he be like his own father and let it take her without option? Would he let evil claim her because of the beliefs a dark wizard had, just because he had no control?

At the flicker of thought about his father, Draco started thinking to himself the incredulous idea of what Mister Granger would do if he knew that Lucius Malfoy had attempted to murder his only daughter? What if he knew that his daughter had been subjected to his teasing and humiliation? What would he do if he knew that she was tortured and held captive in his home?

"Fine, fine," Richard rolled his eyes at something his wife said that Draco didn't catch. "I'll stop bothering her. I reckon she doesn't love her old man as much. I blame books and hormones."

Mrs. Granger giggled and swatted her husband's leg. "Oh, my love, you need a hobby. I think being a Dentist is not doing it for you. Perhaps you should retake golfing."

"Oh, yes. I'm not falling for that one, Jean," Mister Granger retorted with a snort. "When I golfed you almost divorced me because I had a love-affair with that Taylor Made club that my brother sent me."

_Ding. Ding._

"Well, next time don't forget our anniversary for some irrelevant golf match," Mrs. Granger said in a teasingly warning tone as she stood from the couch as Draco heard that ringing bounce of the walls again.

"Your mother," Richard clucked his tongue as he glanced at his daughter. "She's all sweet and fluffy, but then she's attempting to murder me with golf balls. It was one anniversary, right? She could've gone easy on me. I remembered the past nineteen."

Draco had open Granger's mouth to reply to her father, after he'd established that the ringing had been a way to tell the muggles that someone was at their door, when he saw himself enter through the door.

He dropped Granger's jaw, making her brown eyes widened with outrage and shock as his own silver eyes glanced pleadingly at him for a moment as they approached.

"Darling, you've a visitor," Mrs. Granger spoke as she showed a tall boy into her living room, aiming a secretive smirk at her daughter as her husband shot off the couch with a frown.

"And you are?" Mister Granger questioned bluntly and directly, his eyes completely focused on the blonde boy in his living room.

Clearing his throat lightly, the boy with silver eyes intruding in the Granger household pulled himself together with haste. "I…I'm sorry to impose, but I was…in the neighborhood and wanted to see if I could…erm…talk to Hermione."

"Are you that Smith boy down the street that's always hanging about our yard in the summers? Because if you are, I'm certain my daughter's not interested." Mister Granger still kept his frown.

"Don't be rude, Richard," Jean reached over and pinched her husband's arm. "And this is not that boy, this one's another."

At that, Mister Granger still did not look amused or eased.

"Draco," Malfoy was quick to pick up whatever the hell had brought the Bookworm to march his body into a muggle location without warning, "I'm so glad you stopped by and visited me. I hope your holiday's going well."

Mister Granger turned to his daughter, scowling at her with disapproval. (Clearly they weren't on the same page as the girl was smiling at the boy.) "Who's this, Hermione?"

"He's from school," Draco told Granger's father with her calm and all-knowing voice. "And, I'm sure I've mentioned him before, father. It just might have slipped your mind."

"Well, Draco, welcome to our home," Mrs. Granger cut in before her husband can say something else that could embarrass her family by his rudeness. "We'll be in the kitchen, Hermione," she then turned to her daughter, "you can talk here privately."

Mister Granger frowned deeply as his wife gripped one of his arms and started tugging him to the kitchen. "I've ears of a bat! I can hear everything!" He warned as he was dragged away; a slap echoed from the kitchen soon after.

Taking out Granger's wand, Draco waved it with a quick flick of his wrist, casting a Silencing Charm the muggles wouldn't notice, and then scowled deadly at his own face. "What are you doing here?"

"Dad's a bit dramatic sometimes," Hermione breathed at the boy possessing her body, then looking towards the entrance of her kitchen. "He's all talk, though…He just…I'm his only daughter, you know? He's just afraid."

At the way his silver eyes were glowing with an attempt to hide the pain Granger was feeling inside of him, Malfoy shook it away as his anger did not reside. "Charming stuff, Granger, but none of it matters. _Why are you here?_ You could've been followed!"

Digging his teeth into Malfoy's bottom lip, Hermione felt his eyes burn in their sockets. "I wasn't," she replied in a murmur.

And before Draco could ask how she was so sure about that, he watched with narrowed eyes as she took out his wand from the pocket of his trousers; she made his fingers shake.

She inhaled for a few seconds, trying to mask the Slytherin's face in the way she's seen him do so many times. She was hiding something, Malfoy could see it. He could see the panic burning in his eyes, his chest heaving with it.

"What was the point of those galleons you made, Granger, if you—"

"I'll explain later," she cut him off and headed straight to the kitchen where her parents were with a look of determination finally settling in.

Draco knitted her brown brows in confusion and followed pursuit quickly.

And as he entered the kitchen, a step or two behind the Gryffindor, Malfoy felt a deeper bewilderment stab the body he was borrowing when he saw himself raising his wand and pointing it to the faces of the muggles that were staring back; shock and fear stretched on their faces as they stopped their quiet chatter amongst themselves.

Malfoy gaped at the threatening pose that Hermione was directing to her own parents. "What the hell are you doing?"

Then there was a burst of light.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Dun. Dun. Dun!<strong>

**Anyway, I'm pretty sure I might have gone a little bit overboard with how I wrote her parents, but I kind of liked it. I hope you did too.**

**Thanks so much for reading, until next chapter! (:**


	12. Clouds of Misery

**This Is War**

**Chapter Eleven: **Clouds of Misery

He blinked the brown eyes he was borrowing, the jet of colored-light still spotting his vision as he looked before him. Richard and Jean Granger were slumped against their chairs, eyes closed and their faces frozen white.

"Have you gone mad?" Draco muttered with bewilderment drenching the voice he was using. He approached the table with cautious steps, shock still filling the body he was commanding.

Lowering the quivering wand in between Malfoy's long fingers, Hermione could feel herself shake from the inside out. The heart she was lent was thumping wildly, bruising Malfoy's bones with her uncontrolled and frenzied emotions.

Draco turned back to the girl caught in his body. "What did you do, Granger?"

"They're just knocked out," Hermione replied in a broken murmur. "There's…There's something I need to fill you in on."

Malfoy glanced back at the muggles. "You're utterly insane, Granger, honestly." He could see her parents' chests rise and fall softly, clearly alive. "You could've been followed. My mother had warned me they were watching every person in the manor carefully. You could give yourself away."

"I didn't. I was—"

"Do you know the kind of danger you could put _me_ in?"

"You're not in any, Malfoy. I made—"

"Unless I present them heads of muggles my being here has no valid excuse. You're not going to be able to get yourself out of this one."

"No, there isn't a valid excuse, you're right. But I've—"

"The enchanted galleons, Granger, come on. There's a reason—"

"Would you shut up, Malfoy!" Hermione shrieked with his rough tone, finally having enough of his interruptions. "Don't you worry about how I got out. No one will suspect anything, I assure you. Now stay silent for a few minutes, you insufferable idiot, so I can tell you something important!"

Startled a little at the tone and volume she was taking with him, Draco narrowed his eyes at the sight of his own silver eyes and tightened one of Granger's palms into a fist. "Alright, Brightest Witch of the Age, tell me why you're here. Tell me what possessed you to make such a _stupid_ decision as to escape the manor to come to a muggle neighborhood."

She knew he was upset, knew that he was insulting her intelligence and questioning her actions, but none of that mattered. She could have another day to be angry with him; to fight back and curse his teeth in. This just wasn't the time or day or moment. "Follow me," she told him, turning on his heels.

Keeping her tiny handle clutched into a fist, Malfoy muttered something incoherent under his breath. He still hated her, he was certain. She was so damn aggravating that he couldn't even tolerate her in her own body let alone his own.

"I pity you, honestly, I do. Living with her must be a nightmare," he said to the unconscious bodies of her parents before following after the girl.

There couldn't be a reason for her being here, could there? The Order had said—from what he'd gathered in that short and blurring meeting—that Granger was supposed to go to her family's house and spend the holidays like the jolly muggles they were. Right?

But of course, this was Granger who he was referring to. What made him think that the annoyingly irritating Bookworm was just going to stay inside his bedroom at Malfoy Manor like a good little witch and pretend to be him for a few days? Obviously he'd have to be off his rocker to assume that she'd do anything for his benefit.

_What was she thinking,_ he thought to himself in irritation as he saw the door of her bedroom was banged open, _putting me on the line so she'd see her mummy and daddy?_

He'd crossed into her room now, opening her mouth so he could throw one of his sneering comments at her for putting him in danger when he saw her halt his body in front of a lilac wall; she had his silver eyes brimming with red.

"…Snape's at the manor," she whispered, the eyes fixated on the wall as she didn't bother to turn back and look at the boy in her body. "He got me to assist a task with him, just research at his home. He told me I could leave for an hour and then come back to head to your home. You're safe from any questions."

Draco sealed her lips into a thin line. As he did so, as he contemplated on what to say, he swore her tongue savored her lips and gave him a taste of something fruity. Like Granger's mouth had its own sweet flavor.

"Erm," he cleared his throat, shoving her tongue away from her lips, "right. Good."

Hermione ignored his little comment, keeping his silver orbs locked at the lilac wall that held some of her precious moments caught in flaps of paper. The wall was like overwhelming swirls of things she'd gone through, things she'd lived through and loved.

"…How'd you like my mum and dad?" She asked in that low and gentle whisper, her back still turned to Malfoy. She hadn't known why she'd asked, but curiosity sometimes got to her more than it should.

Malfoy crossed his borrowed-arms over her chest, knitting her brown brows. "They're…interesting," he replied, not sure why he'd taken the liberty to answer a question that was more suited for a friend. "For muggles, that is."

_But that doesn't matter anymore_, he told himself, keeping those arms crossed and denying himself from adding to the subject. Yes, the Grangers were a pair of people that were equally witty and somewhat comical, but that wasn't something he needed to tell her. She knew who they were after all. And it wasn't like his opinion about her parents, about muggles in general, mattered.

Unaware that Malfoy was having a mental debate with himself, Hermione turned away from the wall with her collage of photos and turned to look at the Slytherin trapped inside her Gryffindor body. "…I don't have long," she muttered to him, trying to keep her chin high as their eyes met, "so I'll explain this quick—"

"Please do, Bookworm,"

"—I was assigned a mission that's to be completed during the holidays. That's why I told you I needed you to go home for the break," she told him. "As you see, it's not something I could just in charge you with and hope you do the best you can. This is a top-security mission."

Draco tightened her arms over her chest, his own irritation creeping up her spine. "So what now, Granger? You're going to go off and save an entire village of Mud—Muggle-Borns and I just need to memorize the details? If I'm not needed then _why_ are you here?"

Even though she was summoning all of her courage, all of her will, Hermione couldn't help but to feel her pride waver a little; her own weak emotions bursting inside Malfoy's chest and gripping down to where her soul was.

It started as a tickle in Malfoy's nose-tip, a small knot in his throat. But then her own thoughts started processing the plan quickly and her emotions rose out and clawed at his chest; wanting to come out. It was his body, yes, but she could feel the exhaustion from her own in his.

Watching this, watching as his face consorted in twists of feelings, his silver eyes glazing over, Draco took a hesitant step towards the girl in there. "Granger?" He called out to her warily.

"I d-don't want to," Hermione squeaked past Malfoy's teeth, dropping his head and feeling her sobs radiate out of him. "I don't want to let them g-go…"

His body collapsed to the ground of Granger's room, but in the next second Draco couldn't see himself. He saw _her_. He saw her in her own body; her kneecaps digging into the floor, her brown curls fluffed all around her, sticking to her face as those big doe-like eyes dripped tears. Her cheeks were flushed with emotion, her shoulders shook, and those fragile hands of hers were covering her mouth.

He took slow steps towards her, but he got there sooner than he wanted or thought. He slowly sunk beside her, a hand of his hesitantly trying to reach out for her. And once it did, once fingers touched her shaking shoulders, something in him sunk and flowed. It was like a wave of emotions washing him from the inside; pushing away the blockades of darkness that existed within him.

He was so used to hating her, so used to loving the fact that she was miserable and that she cried, but now that comfort and familiar feeling was gone. In fact, he knows when he lost it. And that was when she'd been dragged into his home like an animal, tossed on the flooring of one of his rooms and then tortured. It was then, right when he saw her thrashing against Bellatrix, crying so loud that he felt it dig into his eardrums that he knew that something had shifted.

"Granger," he called quietly. "Granger, what's wrong?"

She didn't answer him, but instead threw arms around him; bringing him closer. She just needed comfort. She just needed the feel of a warm body, of the comforting sound of a heartbeat that reminded her of what was right and what was wrong. And even though Draco Malfoy was inside her body, it was still her own gentle and noble and logical heart that beat inside that chest.

She needed a reminder of what she was, of the selfless reasons of the mission she created for herself and why she needed to let go.

Putting his own logical thoughts aside for a single second, Malfoy robotically squeezed her to him; hugging her in a way he imagined a friend would. There must be a reason for her to push away her Gryffindor pride and breakdown in front of him. He hoped it wasn't because of something that happened at Malfoy Manor, something 'he' was forced to do for Death Eaters.

"…You're going to tell them it's done," distracting Malfoy, Hermione whispered to him; their embrace still tight. "You'll tell them not to ask you any questions. That all details will remain only with you."

Malfoy knitted her brows, staring past his own shoulder as Granger's hold on him was strong; like she was clinging on to something.

"You're going to tell Harry it's not his fault," she continued, "and you're going to put on a brave face for everyone. You'll be leaving this house. An emergency trunk with all the necessities is in the closet."

As she released him, threw her own comforting arms away from her, Hermione slowly rose back up on Malfoy's long legs. She looked down at her own face, watching it flash with confusion. He had so many questions, but she couldn't and wouldn't answer them even if there was a chance. The secret had to die with her—if it came to that, that is.

"Granger," Draco cleared her throat, frowning, "what do you mean I've got to leave the house? Where am I supposed to go? And what the hell am I supposed to tell your parents? You bloody _attacked_ them."

"The Floo is programmed to direct to one place only," she replied to him, reaching over and taking her wand from him. "They'll be waiting for you. And…as for my parents…you needn't worry about that. Just know that once I walk down those stairs you've got ten minutes to grab the trunk and leave."

Draco's frown on her face deepened. "Why?"

Again, she ignored his question. "I'll leave my wand at the tabletop." She started heading towards her bedroom door, already leaving him behind. And without turning to face him she said, "ten minutes, Malfoy. Move quickly."

He could hear his own footsteps trot down the staircase of the Granger home, an urgency to them. There was something definitely off about everything, he could sense it. And whatever it was that Granger was about to do, whatever had her cry like she'd seen Death come and take the ones she loved, Draco couldn't help but to feel scared.

Hurriedly like he was told, he rose up on her small feet and rushed towards the closet. He banged the door open and pushed aside her clothes until he found what she'd hidden. And sure enough there was the trunk. It was much smaller than what they packed in their Hogwarts trunk, but he decided to go inspect it later.

And as he pulled it out of the confined closet, just as he was about to rush to the bedroom door and leave, Granger's warning still echoing in his mind, he stopped abruptly. Something was wrong.

The lilac wall behind the headboard of her bed had lost its magic. The collage of pictures was destroyed. All the moving photographs of Granger and her annoying Gryffindor friends were gone, leaving patches of empty space. The only ones that remained were those muggles ones; those with Granger and her parents. The thing, however, was that Granger was now in none of them. Her happy face, her glittering brown eyes and her childhood self was gone. The pictures were just of Mister and Mrs. Granger.

"What did you do, Granger?" Draco whispered to himself incredulously, looking at the wall like it was burning.

She had erased herself from her parents' life. That had been her mission.

**X**

Veda the house-elf had been watching her young master for an hour now. Mister Snape had ordered Veda to see after him once they'd returned from somewhere that Veda was not allowed to ask, know, or question. She had just been told that her young master was feeling ill and that she was to stay in the same room as him, keeping an eye out for him in case he needed anything.

Though Mister Snape wasn't aware that Veda knew that the person sulking in a chair inside one of the many study rooms of Malfoy Manor was not her young master, Veda still watched loyally. Her young master had sent her a message days back, informing her of the intruder. She was vowed to watch after the girl in her young master's body; to protect her.

But as that girl in her young master's body continued to try and disappear between the fabric of that leather armchair, Veda knew there was nothing she could do to help. The girl was in a state that she'd seen on her young master's face before. And that was a state of depression, of complete misery. She made his silver eyes spark like metal, dirty and hard. Lifeless.

Standing in the corner of the study, Veda was disturbed from her faithful watching of her alleged young master as the door of the room opened; the door practically flying off its hinges.

Being pulled away from her own cloud of misery, Hermione looked away from nothing in particular as a loud sound echoed around the room she was in. And as she turned to find the source of it, she felt Malfoy's body tense as her borrowed-eyes landed on the commander of the noise. Lucius Malfoy.

"Draco."

The man's voice was rough, flat but with twinges of anger trying to poke out of it. And though that should've worried her, Hermione was a little distracted by the man's presence to fully prepare herself for what was about to come. The once elegant Lucius Malfoy was gone. What stood in the same room as Hermione was a man with long, stringy blonde hair; a dull face surrounded with unkempt scruff; silver eyes that no longer held superiority and dominance but hopelessness and defeat.

And by the glass that was without a question filled with liquor clutched by his right hand, Hermione knew that the once prestigious Mister Malfoy was now a shadow of what he used to be; now just a drunken man.

"Your presence was missed today," Lucius continued, looking at his son with firm eyes as the boy refused to speak to him. "You know you're not allowed to leave the Manor without direct permission."

Having a retort to give to the man, Hermione held herself back and let the venom die before opening her mouth. "…I was with Snape."

Lucius tightened the hold on his glass. "And now you take orders from Severus, Draco?"

Hermione said nothing to the Death Eater before her. She kept his son's lips shut, blinking his silver eyes away from him. What was she supposed to say to that anyway? She hadn't run into Malfoy's parents in her time in the manor, and the Slytherin hadn't given her information on how to act with them. She was just going to have to act on her instincts.

Taking the boy's silence as a brush-off, Lucius' anger broke through his attempt to keep it at bay. "You're required to attend the meetings, Draco! Don't think for a second that your obligations towards the Dark Lord are over!"

Hermione tightened Malfoy's lips more, controlling herself. It took a little force to not turn and look at Mister Malfoy; to not snap at him. She had just gotten rid of her parents—parents who she loved and who loved her. She couldn't deal with Lucius Malfoy at the moment. She couldn't look at him and see the horrible father he was. That would just crush her even more in knowing that her father—his complete opposite—was now somewhere else in the world and she had to deal with the likes of Lucius.

"You failed this family twice!" Rage boiled at higher levels inside of Lucius as his son continued to ignore him. He marched over to the armchair where the boy was seated, and with his free hand he pulled the boy up by the collar of his robes. "If your hesitation is noticed by the others the Dark Lord won't think twice about putting you back in line!"

Hermione widened her borrowed-eyes. "Stop," she hissed at the man, taking his son's hands to try and tug away his hold from the robes she was wearing.

"You failed to kill Dumbledore and you failed to hand Potter and his friends to the Dark Lord," Lucius ignored his son's fighting, "how much more do you think he's willing to let pass before he ends you, Draco! Do you even know the risk you're putting our family in?"

"Let go!" Hermione snapped at Mister Malfoy, tugging his hands away with more force.

But as something seemed to have snapped in Lucius' eyes, something like insanity, fear, and worry taking over those silver eyes, the door to the study opened once more. This time two adults dressed in all black entered.

"Lucius!" Appearing right next to father and son was the mother Narcissa Malfoy. Her blue eyes were wide, concern and fear pulling at every line of her pale face as she gripped her husband's arms. "Let go of my son! Let go!"

Without letting his grip on Draco's shoulders go, without thinking about it in that moment, Lucius backed his right elbow with speed; making it collide with his wife's chest and knocking her back a few steps.

"_Flagrate_!" With sparks of fire escaping the ends of his wand-tip, Snape watched with no emotion as they entered Lucius' back; making him hiss and let go of his hold on his son.

Lucius hunched himself down, dropping his glass of liquor on the carpet as he gritted his teeth. "How dare you!" He snarled, peaking up from his haywire hair and throwing deadly glares at the wizard who attacked him. "How dare you attack me in my own home?"

Before anything else could happen, as Hermione stood aghast at the scene that had just broken out in the middle of the study, someone else marched into the room; the _clink, clink, clink_ of their boots deafening the silence.

"What's going on here?"

And just as the girl trapped inside Draco Malfoy's body thought that her day couldn't get any worse, she felt coldness enter and grip her soul at the sight of the person who'd just appeared. Standing there, just a few feet away, dark eyes and dark hair looking insane, was Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Cissy," the witch called, "why are you on the floor?"

Hermione shook Malfoy's head, taking steps further away from all the adults as something else started appearing inside of Malfoy's chest. It was hard, rough, and thick. It was spreading among his bones, clawing at his heart and freezing the blood in his veins. It was making Hermione's thoughts become blurred, the air she was inhaling via Malfoy's lungs suddenly escaping.

"Veda," ignoring Bella's question and almighty attitude, Snape turned to the struck-silent house-elf in the corner of the room. "Take Draco to his bedroom."

Lucius snapped his head up, frowning with more wrath. "You don't get the right to order my servants—"

The rest of Mister Malfoy's sentence was drowned away from Hermione's hearing as she was being spun, spun, and spun. Just as it had happened, quick and before she felt the house-elf reach for her with bony fingers, Hermione felt solid floor once more.

She was outside Malfoy's bedroom.

"Oh God," she heaved, slamming Malfoy's back against one of the walls of the hall. His heart was going insane inside him, the distress caused by her memories and nightmares all wrapped in one room.

Veda looked sadly at the figure of her young master. "It's okay, Miss. Master didn't mean to hurt the young master," she said, reaching over for one of the boy's hand. "Master loves his son, he does. Veda knows it, Miss."

Hermione tore the hand away from the house-elf. "No, Veda, he _doesn't_," she said with thick fury. "A man who loves his son would never allow him to be in danger or demand him to be sinister."

"M-Master made mistakes," Veda pressed, her giant purple eyes looking scared at the frustration and anger the girl was making her young master's face take up. "Veda h-has heard Master say it. Master is sorry, Miss."

"Malfoys are never sorry," Hermione replied, not caring that she was being so rude to a little creature that didn't deserve it. "I'm sorry…but I don't believe that anyone in this family knows the meaning of love."

With that being said from the boy's mouth, Veda lowered her head in shame and sadness as the girl tore her young master's back away from the wall and gripped the knob of his bedroom; opening the door. Veda knew that no one would ever think that the family she served had a right for redemption, or that in the end, they cared for one another. The way a proper family should; even if they weren't a noble one.

"_Lumos_," Hermione muttered as soon as she entered the dark room. As she closed the door behind her, her conscience jabbing her with a parental disapproval for the way she treated the house-elf, she directed Malfoy's wand-tip to lamps around his bedroom; making it light up and end the cursed darkness in it.

She yanked his robes open, pulling them off the borrowed-body with great ferocity as all she wanted to do was slither into those disgusting silk sheets and hide until it was time to head back to Hogwarts. She was done being Malfoy; done with the manor. Yes, she had brought this on herself, but suffering by the mere existence of Bellatrix Lestrange was not worth it. It was going to drive her mad and give her position away.

As she managed to strip Malfoy's body from a few of his clothing items, Hermione was halted from her path to his bed when she noticed someone already sitting there. At the edge of the grand bed was someone with their head down; a cloud of misery that'd been following Hermione all day over them too.

"Blaise?" Hermione called, brows furrowed as she stared calculating at the dark-skinned boy. "Blaise, what are you doing here?"

At the slow steps heard on the carpet of the bedroom, Zabini found some will to look up at his friend as the latter approached him.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked warily as she got a full-blast of the boy's agonized emerald eyes; teardrops in between his long lashes. "What happened?"

"…I couldn't avoid it," Zabini breathed, more teardrops falling past his lashes and trailing down his dark cheeks. His defenses of being strong, neutral and unfeeling were long gone as a deep pain sunk into his skin; sunk into everything that he was.

And before Hermione could question him again, as she kneeled before him, making Malfoy's face ignite with deep concern that was something so Granger-like, Blaise pulled back the sleeve of his right arm.

The Dark Mark was now burned into him.


	13. Redeeming the Cowards

**This Is War**

**Chapter Twelve: **Redeeming the Cowards

He was sitting on an old, lumpy couch with a multi-colored quilt thrown over his lap as he looked at a clock with narrowed eyes. The clock was odd, something that he'd never encountered before in any of the magical houses he visited with his parents. But then again, that pretty much clarified the reasons for his disdain over the clock hanging on an old wall.

This house—with its cabin-like interior, busy walls, pictures frames, lamps, pillows, pots, pans, cauldrons, books, clothes, flowers, hand-made drawings, little household trinkets—was unlike anything that he'd encountered. This house was not a home of someone who was overflowed with riches and chose to show that wealth off by displaying exquisite rugs, imported furniture, fine art, or fabulous antiques. No. This house, with a staircase that spiraled up to the upper levels, with brooms all stocked up together in a corner and with a little farm on the outside grounds was the home of the Weasleys. This was the Burrow.

Watching as two of the many individual hands of that particular clock moved from _Work_ to _Mortal Peril_, Draco heard a sigh of relief coming from behind him.

"Thanks goodness," a plump redheaded woman with a tired expression murmured, her arms filled with towels.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her, giving her his what-are-you look that people often said was an irritated look of confusion.

"They're traveling," Mrs. Weasley said, answering the question in what she assumed was Hermione Granger's eyes. "Whenever the twins travel—whenever anyone travels, really—they're in mortal peril. But they take care of themselves. They should be home soon."

Draco didn't say anything, he just scrutinized his vision on the woman; observing her carefully. She was nothing like the pureblood women he knew of, nothing like all those wives of his father's friends. This woman was not poised, not elegant and masked. Everything from Mrs. Weasley spewed out heat, warm maternal instincts. She wore her emotions like she wore all those colorful, knitted sweaters.

Draco had been at the Burrow for five hours now, just him and Mrs. Weasley as the others were still pointed to _Mortal Peril_ on her eccentric clock. He had seen her transition from warm, kind, and inviting as he arrived with his disguise of Hermione Granger; and as the time progressed and they still remained on their own, the redhead's face was worried, exhausted, angered—that was when Mister Weasley and Bill's hands pointed to _Prison_ for an hour—and then back to worried.

Before the thought of how Mrs. Weasley had been exactly like Mrs. Granger—both fierce mothers that took their title very seriously—and he could start wondering and calculating his own mother, there was a _crack_ from the outside and Mrs. Weasley pulled out her and as her facial expression went to alert.

Giving him a motion to sit still and quiet as she vanished the towels in her arms, Mrs. Weasley disappeared to the backdoor of her cluttered home. Pushing the colorful quilt away from his lap, Malfoy inched a little further out of his seat on that lumpy couch; Granger's wand out at the ready just in case.

"—What form do my Boggarts take?" He heard the redhead woman's voice become shrill, surely radiating out her tension as she greeted whatever intruder waited on the outside of her home.

Whatever the answer was to that question, Draco found that he couldn't hear it. It was like the walls of the Weasley home suddenly blocked him out; making a loud humming noise enter his borrowed-eardrums. He frowned—was the house keeping him out? Did the bloody old place know that he was a potential threat?

Whatever the cause for his sudden deafness was left unexplained as Mrs. Weasley marched her way back in, her alert gone but her worry resurfacing as two figures entered the living room from behind her. It was the werewolf and his bride.

"Ah, Hermione," the werewolf smiled sadly at Draco's direction. "When did you get here?"

"Her mission was over with a few hours ago," Mrs. Weasley informed the man as his wife swaggered her way charmingly towards the brunette girl on her couch. "She's been waiting here since because apparently nor Ron or Harry informed her that they'd be at headquarters discussing things with Luna Lovegood and a few others."

As Tonks came around to embrace the shell of Granger, Draco internally tensed up with alarm as the pink-haired woman mumbled something like, "it's going to be alright, darling." There was something warm about her too, something like affection that he was hardly ever given.

"So they haven't found Mister Lovegood, then?" Lupin asked Mrs. Weasley, crossing his arms as he took a seat on an armchair.

"No," Mrs. Weasley's face was now cautious. "Arthur expects they might've…disposed of Xeno, but Luna believes he's imprisoned somewhere; keeping himself sane by recalling all the properties of Crumpled-Horned Snorkacks. The poor dear," she sighed now. "Harry offered her headquarters to stay, along with a few other runaway school friends, since she didn't want to impose herself here since Harry and Hermione will already be staying. Neville, the sweetheart, is sticking by her."

Lupin nodded solemnly, a sort of resignation in his eyes. "Arthur and Bill's mission to find out about the prisoners of Azkaban should provide information, if they're successful, and see how many innocents are kept there. Maybe Mister Lovegood will find himself there…"

"Molly, mind if we make a bit of tea?" Tonks tore her arms away from the brunette girl, stepping away from her and heading towards Mrs. Weasley. "Remus and I left hurriedly from my mother's and we're a bit parched."

As Mrs. Weasley agreed wholeheartedly, Draco couldn't help but to feel like the small exchange between his cousin and her werewolf husband was about something more than refreshments.

Confirming his suspicions, the ex professor narrowed his grey eyes at the girl on the lumpy couch across from him. "I won't waste my time asking you about your mission, Hermione," he said straightforwardly, "especially since you're keeping the details to yourself. I just want to tell you that what you did took a lot of courage. One simply cannot walk away from family, Hermione. And what you did for their safety, even if I'm sure it tore you apart, can only come from someone with a heart like yours."

On that couch, Hermione Granger said nothing; her lips remained in a tight line.

"Hopefully…you get them back. But meanwhile you have us, of course." He smiled. "After all, you know Tonks and I think of you like part of our family, along with the others too."

A second of silence, and Hermione Granger's lips pulled into a dim smile. "…Thank you, Remus," she murmured.

Not letting the silence take up required time that Malfoy desired and that the werewolf care not for, the latter edged closer to the brunette girl from his armchair. "We've been keeping tabs on the Greengrass sisters," he whispered, perking his ears and using his heightened senses to make sure his wife was keeping their friend busy. "McGonagall's keeping watch over them at school, making sure either of them doesn't even come close to the barrier protecting the school. And as for Mister Greengrass…well, he's reluctant still, but I've got him monitored."

"What about Blaise?" Malfoy asked, not necessarily caring for the safety of a self-redeemed Death Eater and his daughters. (Sure, Daphne had been a sort of acquaintance at a point, and he didn't want her or Astoria involved in this, but he was certain that in Hogwarts they'd be as safe as there could be at the moment.)

Something crossed the werewolf's eyes, Draco could see it. It was like a flash of reluctance, pity, confusion, resignation, and then a gleam of hope. "Keeping watching on him is proving problematic, Hermione. He's too into the Dark Lord's circle." He trailed off for a moment, taking a deep sigh. "Nonetheless, Tonks knows this is important for you, and that you're positive Zabini needs protecting. She's keeping watch over him as much as she can, morphing herself into different people to watch over him."

"Is she only doing it because Gran—_I_ believe in Zabini's innocence?" Draco didn't mean to sound upset, offended, but it came out that way. He was aware that his forsaken-cousin and her husband were doing this on the hush for Granger, but need it sound like a job? Like it was a bloody hassle to protect someone who needed it? "Does nobody else believe in redemption? Doesn't the precious Order realize that not many of…_them_ choose this?"

Remus crossed his arms, eyeing the girl as her gaze lit up with frustration. "There _is_ redemption, Hermione," his tone was low but calm. "Everyone makes mistakes. Those are the factors for second chances. But what matters, Hermione, is what the individual decides to do to prove his redemption. Claiming that one's redeemed serves no purpose if he hides and shows no drive for action. The coward does _not_ redeem, Hermione."

Without helping it, "like Draco Malfoy?" his own name left his borrowed-lips.

"—What about Malfoy?"

Cranking Granger's neck upwards, her brown eyes landed on two boys that would've ignited her pathetic heart into overdrive were her soul still in her own body. Fortunately for him, he was not Granger on the inside and the sudden presence of her loyal companions stirred nothing but indifference and distaste.

"Yeah, what about Malfoy?" The Weasel asked, entering his living room as his mother and Tonks reentered; the redheaded woman looking a little more relieved as she hugged Ginny closer to her side.

"Honestly, Mum," the Weaslette huffed, trying to push herself away from her mother. "Headquarters is the safest place. I wasn't going to combust mid side-long apparition, was I?"

Ignoring the voices and comments that had merged out, Draco cleared his borrowed-throat in a very Granger-like fashion and tried to make her eyes glow in that warm way her pictures with her friends did so. "How's Luna?" He asked, remembering the snippet Mrs. Weasley had let out and using Granger's always-caring attitude.

"She's Luna," Ginny sighed, her fiery attitude suddenly a little controlled. "It's been five months since her dad disappeared, but she's…being Luna about it. She's hanging on, and I hope Lavender's stay at headquarters doesn't affect her. Dean and Neville will—"

"Yeah, yeah. She's still as mad as ever and Lavender hates her, all the same teenage witch drama. Who cares," Ron hushed his sister, cutting her off as he looked at Remus and Hermione narrowly. "You were talking about Malfoy. What is it? Has the git done something else now?"

Malfoy glared at the redheaded moron. "No," he snapped willingly. "Lupin and I were just discussing if it was safe for me to owl Malfoy."

Thrown off at that, Ron almost staggered back a little to Harry's side. "What'd you mean, 'Mione? Why the hell would you want to owl that idiot for?"

Contracting one of Granger's fragile hands into a fist, Malfoy tried to steady breaths before speaking. If he went a little too cruel for Granger's likes he was certainly done for. "…We've got that assignment still pending," he said blankly. "Professor Slughorn ordered that it'd be done before we return. I need his part of the assignment."

"You need nothing from him," Ron told her, frowning. "I understand that you're Hermione Granger, you live to get O's on your homework, but who can care about that right now? We're at bloody war! You just can't go owling that coward and expecting him not to send a cursed object in return!"

There it was, wasn't it? In that poorly educated statement Weasley had said was the truth, in all his stinky breath. He was a coward and he'd be continued to be seen as one; connected to things that were vulgar and dark.

He was that person who wanted redemption but would forever hide in the shadows to safe himself, sacrificing all the rest while he pleaded innocent.

**X**

Diagon Alley was not the place he'd remember it to be. The alley was not that place with wizards, witches, and children walking along the pebbled road, taking up the entire area until they were practically touching shoulder to shoulder. There wasn't any of the excitement, the frustration, that ease, or that feeling of magic in the air when you walked along, peering into shops and window-shopping. (Not that he did any of that, but he remembered people who would plaster their noses against the windows of shops to linger on what they longed for.)

Diagon Alley was not the place of buzzing memories of childhood and the bit of innocence he had anymore. It hadn't been that way for the past two years, really. The last time he'd stepped foot into it was at the beginning of his Sixth Year—and even then, it had lost its flare of magic. Diagon Alley had become a black hole, a vortex of nothing bright and shimmering. The only thing that stood out was Weasley Wizard Wheezes, and he wasn't certain how that was.

"Wish George and Fred would've open the store today," Ginny grumbled from her side next to Hermione Granger, looking a little saddened as they past her brothers' store. "But then again, we all know Mum. She would've come and shut the store herself if the twins weren't tending to their duties."

"Ah, and the duties those are," Tonks said from behind the girls, her pink-hair was a normal and undetected brown. "A day filled with gardening, prepping for grooming, cleaning, and inventory."

"Proper punishment for what they pulled at dinner yesterday," Ginny added with a snort and an eye-roll. "As much as it was funny, Ron bitched like a little girl about being shrunk and tossed into the bushes after he ate George's chicken. It's clear who Mum's favorite is."

Trying to blend in with the people attempting to blend in as well, all of them trying to go undetected, Malfoy kept his borrowed-eyes on the floor of the alley as the two females in his company were scanning a few dress shops.

"You reckon he deserves it, right, Hermione? Ron was a proper git with you yesterday," the Weaslette continued, flapping her mouth like she assumed 'Hermione' wanted her to. "He'll feel bad about it once he pushes the Malfoy-of-it-all away and remembers about your mission. Harry's been trying to make him see reason, but you know how he is."

"Ron is very unforgiving but he seeks forgiveness over and over," Tonks said from behind the two girls, her eyes a sad black as she scanned those around her; keeping watch. "He has no patience for Draco Malfoy."

"Probably with good reason," Ginny added in. "He's been a foul git all of his life, and just because he came back this year and tries to stay hidden no one forgets what he did. He tried to kill Dumbledore—"

"He was threatened," Tonks interrupted. "Harry told us so after Dumbledore's funeral."

Ginny stopped momentarily, halting the brunette girl beside her as she turned to look at the older woman. "You want to believe the best in him, don't you, Dora?"

Looking up from Granger's lashes, Draco stared carefully at his mother's niece.

"I want to believe he has some good in him, Ginny. I don't expect him to be a saint with parents like his, but I hope to think he still has some innocence. He…He's family, and I hate to think that when the moment comes I'd have to dispose of him if he tries to dispose of me." The woman settled herself in silence, her black eyes flashing a blue that reminded Malfoy so much of his mother's. (It was a blue that matched Andromeda Black's, he had seen it in an old photograph his mother had once showed him when he was five.)

"And, yes, I do want to believe the best in him," Tonks added, trying to mask a blank smile at the girls staring at her. "But that just comes with being a mother, you know. Once you become one you want to believe children are still innocent and worth saving."

"…What if they're not?" Malfoy stared at his cousin through Granger's eyes, but his own indescribable emotion shone. "What if some aren't worth saving?"

Tonks stared at Hermione a little narrowly; inspecting the girl like she'd just said she wanted to drink Firewhiskey and party like there was no tomorrow. "Since when is something not worth saving to you, Hermione?"

"Some people aren't," he told her, his frustration seeping in. He cared not that Granger and the world sought her to be the fighter of everything and everyone. If she believed in the bloody Easter Bunny the muggles were fond of, then everyone else who worshipped her would too if she said so. This was reality—_some people were not worth saving. _No matter in what way you looked at it, in what way you tried to see the light, some souls were just too corrupted to be changed.

The fact was that there was black and white with most people, and once you've spent too much time in the darkness there's no way out. All these people in the Order had to believe that, they had to see it. And Draco honestly believed they did. They would not greet someone with open arms who killed Mad-Eye Moody or their others if they claimed redemption. There weren't any second chances, not really.

"Anyway," Ginny Weasley cleared her throat, looking a little skeptical at the brunette just as Tonks was doing. "I think we better hurry along and actually find a dress. We've been in Diagon Alley for an hour now. Mum will eventually come looking for us and strike the three of us for scaring her and not finding bloody dresses for the wedding."

"Who gets married at a time like this?" Malfoy mumbled, frowning as he turned away from his cousin and the redhead as he remembered the stupid idea that the oldest Weasley spawn had come up with. Apparently he'd snagged Fleur Delacour and the two were in dire need to become man and wife. And since Granger failed to inform him so, not even preparing him with a…dress for the occasion in her emergency-packed trunk, he'd been dragged to a highly dangerous mission for a damned dress.

"Why not?" The Weaslette retorted, her footsteps already following after Malfoy's. "It's the perfect time I think. We're in the middle of war, after all. A bit of normalcy would do well."

Malfoy snorted, not caring about keeping his Granger-card on deck. He was tired of playing her, tired of _being_ her. He needn't walk in her shoes anymore to see what life for her was. Sure, it was exhausting, but so was his. Sure, she had something worth fighting for, but he had something worth not fighting for. Sure, she was filled with touchy-touchy emotions that caused her to find protection for his friends, but he was the one who'd somehow pushed her into that direction.

Granger did not have it worse than he did.

"Alright, girls, let's—"

BANG! BANG!

Just as he was in the process of rolling his eyes as his cousin's voice echoed towards him, the windows of several shops burst; millions of shreds of glass flying around. It was like the crystal of the windows had been a wave of white, hitting him across the face and knocking him down as Granger's body hadn't been strong to handle the blow.

BANG! BANG!

Gritting his teeth as Granger's fragile hands were flat against the floor, her palms being stabbed with the broken glass of the windows as he tried pulling himself up, he managed to get on her knees. A stinging pain shot into the Bookworm's body and found his soul, he saw flashes of several lights zoom past him.

"Get down, Hermione!" Tonks shouted at the fallen girl as she stood protectively in front of Ginny Weasley. "I've sent a patronus to Remus, they'll be here soon!"

BANG! BANG!

"_Confringo_—"

"_Protego_!" Tonks shouted, casting a bubble of protection to burst out in front of her and the girls she was supposed to be protecting.

"Come on now, Auror! Come and play!"

Malfoy peeked up from the mass of curls obscuring his vision for a moment. He saw that Diagon Alley was invaded by Death Eaters and several cloaked figures. They were the children of the Dark Lord's supporters, he knew. It was the robes they were meant to wear before they were presented with their Death Eater masks.

"It's the Mudblood!" Yaxley tore off his mask from behind a throng of Death Eaters, coming from somewhere down the alley where the rest were causing havoc with the shops and the shoppers. People were screaming left and right, hexes flying everywhere and more windows exploding.

Gripping Granger's wand between her bleeding fingers, Draco shot up from the ground. "Run!" He hissed at Tonks and the Weaslette.

And on the command that Hermione Granger had given them, they both took off; Tonks behind them to protect every step they took.

He hadn't meant for them to run with him, but Draco found that he was not in the place or body to tell them to shove off; even if his instinct was to save himself by finding a hole to crawl into and hide.

"_Expulso_!"

As he was running behind the redheaded girl, Draco sensed bricks and part of Diagon Alley explode from somewhere behind him. And as he ran faster, knowing perfectly well that Yaxley, when determined and angered, was not someone to cross, he heard a shrill scream from the background. Turning Granger's head to look over her shoulder, Malfoy saw Tonks crumble beneath parts of a wall that'd been torn down.

_Run,_ he shouted at himself. _Don't stop for her, Draco! Keep running! Run! Save yourself! Who cares about her!_

He stopped abruptly on Granger's feet, heaving dangerously through her cut lips. Would he prove her wrong? Would he run and leave her and the Weasley girl behind to save himself? To prove to her that some people won't worth saving? That even though he was in Granger's body it was still him in there and he wouldn't risk playing her card of the hero? Was he going to show the werewolf right, that cowards don't know redemption?

Yaxley sneered at the Auror and known member of the Order of the Phoenix. "I'd been itching to give you a go, Blood Traitor," he spat at the witch that was groaning from the bricks on her. "How dare you bring a half-breed into our world?"

And just as the Death Eater was raising his wand, pointing it at Tonks, ready to kill her, Draco chose what he was going to do.

He ran. He ran fast and didn't look back.

"Avada Ked—"

"_Expelliarmus_!" The second it took for Yaxley to be distracted as his wand flew out of his hand, Draco waved Granger's wand at his fallen cousin and sent the part of the wall that'd trapped her against the ground away from her.

Taking one of Granger's bloody hands with one of her own, Draco was pulled fast and with urgency as Tonks made them run. They were both cut and sliced by glass, both aching, but they ran together. Malfoy tightened his hand between his cousin's—someone did care for her. She had a mother, had a husband, and she'd just had a child, he knew that. It wasn't her moment to die, and Draco would be damned if he'd be the cause of it.

But as they ran together, Tonks nor who she thought was Hermione were aware of another Death Eater watching them; two of the most hated people on her list. With a loud cackle that echoed through Diagon Alley, sending shivers up the spines of whoever heard it, a stream of light made the two females separate. Both flew towards opposite ends of the alley.

Hitting his borrowed-head on the way down to the clustered ground, Malfoy let out a hiss of pain as he felt Granger's exposed skin slice more from the glass everywhere.

"Well, well, well," through the blur that Granger's brown eyes were adapting, Malfoy didn't need the clear vision to tell who it was. The shrill voice, the mocking tone in it, the oozing pleasure of being evil was enough to know who was approaching him. "We meet again, Mudblood."

_ You're done for, Draco._

"Taking a stroll through Diagon Alley, are we?" Black eyes glowed with glee, coming so close to the brown pair of the fallen girl. "Poor baby, are you hurt?"

Draco said nothing, he just clenched the Bookworm's teeth.

There was another loud cackle. "No need to be strong, Mudblood. We know how loud you scream when my sharp dagger digs into your dirty skin," whipping out a dagger from the pocket of her deranged dress, Bellatrix Lestrange grinned excitedly at the girl. "You escaped me once, sweetheart. That's not going to happen again."

Draco turned Granger's face to the other side, shutting his borrowed-eyes as he chose not to look at his aunt's insane expression; at her lust for blood and pain burning in her eyes.

"Don't you dare look away from me!" Malfoy gritted his teeth more, his aunt's dagger had sliced Granger's turned cheek. "You're not escaping me this time, you filthy little Mudblood!"

_Ironic, isn't it?_ He told to himself, trying to push away the intense stinging as Bellatrix dug onto Granger's skin again; he could feel her blood spilling out._ You're going to let her die, just like the first time._

Bellatrix pulled back from the girl, malice stretching on every line of her face. "There's no room for Mudblood scum in the world, especially not _Potter's_ Mudblood." Taking out a wand that Draco knew she'd snatched from a witch she'd murdered with the use of her handy dagger after the Golden Trio had stolen hers in Malfoy Manor, she pointed it forward. "CRUCIO!"

He was screaming, screaming, screaming. Granger's body was tensed, rigid, going cold but _he_ was the one who felt the fire. He felt her bones crushing together; her organs explode and release hot lava. His soul was the one that could feel the curse gripping, pulling, and cutting at it.

And just as the blur of Granger's vision was being invaded by black, the torture curse attempting to shut him down, he saw a white and brown owl flying directly towards Bellatrix, its wings stretched out as it screeched like it was offended and ready for battle.

And with a scream that was not coming from him, as a wave of air seemed to want to distinguish the fire within, Malfoy saw Tonks and the werewolf rushing to him before he let Granger's body shut down.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, what's this? Like the third cliffhanger in a row? Lol. You know you love me (;<strong>


	14. Soup and Masks

**This Is War**

**Chapter Thirteen: **Soup and Masks

_Here lies the concept of Heaven and Hell again_, he thought bitterly to himself.

He'd been having trouble understanding how the muggles and their beliefs that something so powerful could exist to damn them or rejoice them, how someone that they couldn't see or couldn't feel could sort them out like fruits that are at their prime or have gone rotten. These muggles put so much faith in some great being, most of them weaving throughout life not to upset him so when the unavoidable moment came their souls would lift to Heaven instead of the fiery bits of Hell.

Adding more to his confusion, he wondered now how this Ultimate Being living in the sky could offer redemption. After he'd researched the concept of muggle religion—late one night when the library had been deserted and no one to see a curiosity that could be the end for a pureblood—he stumbled upon various texts of this book called the Bible that referred how this God person could lead the darkness to the light. God gifted redemption to the people of the darkness, people who'd lost their way with a snap of his almighty fingers. And after he'd read that, he wondered how exactly could He make those stray ones go back on track.

With stinging flesh, sore bones, muscles tensed and locked, he knew that the stupid concept of 'walk a mile in someone's shoes' was more relevant than what he'd liked it to be; and maybe this was a way this God could cause the stray to follow the right path again.

"Easy, there. Don't fidget so much, the bruising is still tender."

_It's all a load of bloody rubbish,_ he told himself angrily as a pair of soft hands helped him sit up on a lumpy cot.

"You're impossible to settle," Ginny Weasley was looking at her friend's angry brown eyes. "Honestly, Hermione, sit still. You're going to swell up again."

Malfoy kept his frown on his borrowed-expression, wishing for the Weaslette to shove off and not come back as all he wanted was to be alone.

The redhead sighed. "I know you're itching to go downstairs and join the plans Remus has for the Order, but you can't," she spoke like she really knew what was bothering the brunette.

The girl move forward, fluffing the warm quilt on his lap and he had to subdue the natural instinct to tell her to get her filthy Blood Traitor hands from him—but this really wasn't his body, was it? It's not like he could claim full control of Granger's body and reject all of her touchy friends. (As much as he'd like to.)

In all his distaste to have people touch him, Draco had to unwillingly admit that he was only treated with care and affection. It was a nightmare most of the time, being treated like he was about to break, like he was made of glass, but then he remembered that he was possessing Granger. They treated him—_her_—like the most precious thing because she was their little Princess Warrior.

He had never been handled with so much care, even if they didn't know it was him. When he was younger and got sick due to the change of the weather or for spending too much time flying on his broom when it rained, the house-elves would usually tend to him. They did it with shaky fingers, giant eyes filled with fear, and they never spoke to him. Once or twice through a haze of fever he thought he saw his mother enter his bedroom, brush the sweaty strands of blonde hair from his forehead, kiss him gently there, but then it was gone. Like a dream induced by the fever.

The closest he got to being treated like he was cared for was last year, on the night he'd gotten hit by the curse Potter sent his way and sliced him up; the blood in his body draining out. Snape had been cautious with him, Madam Pomfrey had healed him gently as she clucked her tongue and stared at him disapprovingly, and then Pansy had been less desperate and ran gentle fingertips over his skin when he was in his hospital bed.

But there was no warmth. There never was.

"Mum says you've to eat up," Ginny snapped her fingers in front of her friend's face, bringing her back from whatever daze she'd drift off to. "You've refused to eat for the past two days and she's starting to get upset. Now eat before she comes here and forces the soup down your throat, Granger."

Malfoy raised a brown brow that wasn't his, staring carefully as the Weasley girl brought a wooden-stool beside the lumpy cot he was in and then magically summoned the tray of food that was sitting on top of her dresser.

_Knock. Knock._

Ginny was adjusting the tray of food on her friend's lap, careful not to hurt her as she made sure the sharper edges of the tray weren't digging into her skin, when someone knocked at the door of her bedroom. "Come in," she said fleetingly, staring at Hermione as she frowned at the food.

With a creak against the doorframe, the door opened and a head mopped with dark hair poked its way in. Malfoy frowned even deeper, it was Harry Potter.

"Fleur's looking for you, Ginny," the Chosen One spoke after a quick second of silence.

Ginny made a sour face, rolling her eyes in complete annoyance that Draco had to wonder what was so wrong with the French beauty that the Weaslette hated. "Fine," the redhead said, standing up from the seat she'd barely taken, "but you're to stay here with her."

Potter's eyes flickered with warning, with the need to flee. "…I'll send up Tonks. I've got a few things to do."

"No, _you're_ staying with her," Ginny told her brother's best friend. There was something in her eyes, like a warning of her own that mixed with a severe parental gaze that everyone mostly saw on Mrs. Weasley's face. "She's your best friend, for Merlin's sake," she added in a whisper that held irritation before she stalked out of her little bedroom.

The door closed with a bang behind Potter's ex-girlfriend, and Malfoy could see the panic in the Boy-Who-Lived. It had been three days since Draco had appeared at the Weasley home, and it'd been a day since he was attacked by his mental aunt in Diagon Alley—three days in which Potter scurried off when 'Granger' walked into a room, when he avoided her and didn't talk unless it was required of him.

Now, even though he'd been in the presence of the Weasley breed, Malfoy was not stupid in the slightest. He knew perfectly well that Scarhead was avoiding his little Gryffindor Princess by all costs, muttering hisses at the Weasel King when they thought that 'Granger' wasn't listening.

_So much for friendship_, Malfoy scoffed loudly, following his thought as he tried sitting up a little taller on the old cot. He winced at the movement, catching Granger's arms colored by bruises and scrapes as they tried assisting him.

In the failed attempt to move, grimacing and letting out a hiss through clenched teeth that was given, Harry couldn't help but move his way to his aching friend. And with every step that he took to her, the more he tightened his palm into a fist as the sunlight inside Ginny's bedroom highlighted the brunette's mangled body.

"Here," Harry breathed, carefully setting Hermione's arms on her sides before he took a seat on the wooden-stool and took the tray from her lap. "Chicken noodle soup," he said, scooping some of the soup from the bowl and lifting it towards her.

Malfoy made Granger's face twist in disgust.

"You mentioned once that your mum used to give it to you when you were ill," Harry cleared his throat, looking at the spoon instead of his friend. "…I mentioned it to Mrs. Weasley and she thought….she thought it would make you feel better."

"I was tortured," Malfoy snapped. "I don't have a bloody cold."

The dark-haired wizard raised an eyebrow at the girl, curiosity and shame filled his green eyes. "Just eat, Hermione," was what he chose, inching the spoon with soup closer to her mouth. "You'll feel better."

He had colorful curses, beautiful insults drenched in the right amount of evil, but Draco had to push them aside for the Boy Wonder because he was, unfortunately, impersonating the Bookworm. And there wasn't a chance in hell that the Gryffindor Princess could ever be so cruel to Potter, was there? So instead of taking the Malfoy-approach, he said, "you've been avoiding me."

The girl on the cot had opened her mouth and took the contents from the spoon, and Harry felt like he'd just been slapped across the face. "…Just busy," he mumbled as he took the spoon back from her and scooped up more of the soup. "Important things to tend to, you know."

"More important than your friend who happened to be attacked?" Malfoy asked, a little sneer to the response as he grudgingly took the spoon into Granger's mouth so he could eat. "Well, what a great friend you are, Potter."

Harry knitted his brows, confusion pooling onto his face for a moment; before the shame came back and he looked away from her. "…I can't look at you," he whispered so low that he wasn't sure if it even came out at all. "When I do…You've given so much up for me and I just keep taking and taking."

Malfoy swallowed the soup, rolling his borrowed-eyes as Potter was all dramatic and refused to look up. "I'm sure you haven't." After all, what did Granger have to give the Chosen One other than endless amount of annoying information?

"Don't do that," Harry snapped, finally looking up with angered eyes. "Don't pretend like you haven't given up anything for me." He grabbed the spoon and clunked it back into the bowl. "You've put your life on the line from day one. You've been petrified, exposed to murderers, targeted for being my friend, made to fight time and time again, gone on the hunt for Horcruxes, lived on the run, tortured because of me, and now you've given up your parents!"

Draco furrowed the Bookworm's brows, looking at Potter like he'd just told him a story that was too unbelievable to be heard or comprehended. He watched as his childhood enemy stood from the wooden-stool, paced towards the door, muttering angrily to himself; shaking his head like a mad man.

"You shouldn't have to send your parents into hiding," Harry turned away from Ginny's door, looking at Hermione like his body was being injected with acid and he couldn't contain the pain. "You should never have to depart from them, but you did. You sent them away, your only family…for _me_."

At the look that Potter was giving, like Death was cutting layer by layer of his skin, Draco couldn't fathom his enemy's pain, his weakness. He'd grown up learning that the worst thing any wizard—any _man_—could do was allow the world to see what could destroy you. He was taught to hold in emotions because they were crippling. If you wanted power, respect and strength you weren't supposed to feel.

But Potter felt.

Potter glowed with emotions, yet he was strong, respected, and had his share of power. His weakness was evident as his emerald eyes glistened and his forehead creased with remorse and sorrow—but he was brave. He was what Draco was not, courageous and human.

'_You're going to tell Harry it's not his fault.' _And it was because of that clear difference between the two that he understood Granger's comment the last time he saw her.

Potter was a push away from being a martyr.

"It's not because of you," summoning the courage that lingered in Granger's body, Malfoy cleared her throat and with a sting reached for the tray of food before speaking. "Not entirely at least, but it's mostly about me. We're at war, Harry. We're fighting against people who want my kind dead. They're coming after me and they won't hesitate to go after my parents. That's why they were sent away, to protect them."

Harry's anger eased a little, but he could still hear the voices in his head that told him it was his fault. "You're like my sister," he whispered, holding his ground. "I will always fight so you don't have to lose what I did."

Draco nodded once, flicking brown eyes to look at the bowl of soup; spinning the spoon inside of it. "…What do you think of redemption?" He didn't look up as he asked a question that should've never come out; he watched noodles swirl instead. "Is it possible?"

But before Harry could register Hermione's question thoroughly, the door to Ginny's bedroom opened and in walked in a familiar redheaded.

"Hey," Ron smiled warily as he eyed his best friends carefully. "You two have been here for a while, just wanted to make sure everything was alright."

There was a definite glint of jealousy and caution in the Weasel King's eyes, Draco could see it. It made him snort to himself, spinning the spoon once more as he tried not to comment on the fact that Weasley distrusted his best friend and how pathetic he was for openly showing how into Granger he was.

"I'm just leaving," Harry spoke up, catching the concern in Ron's eyes. "Stay with her, will you? And make sure she eats." And as the redhead nodded, a little too willing as he took a seat on the wooden-stool, Harry turned back to his friends before leaving. "Oh, and Hermione, it's possible. People change."

**X**

The room was a lot darker than it had been since she first stepped foot into it. The marbled walls seemed to have gone completely black, the magic holding the lights was fading, the candles refused to burn brightly, and there was no sunlight entering the bedroom through the grand window that had been opened for the purpose of warmth.

She was sulking again, a fury and misery over her as she tried sinking into a leather armchair until she disappeared into the fabric and became a dust-mite. Everything was going bad and she didn't have any means to fix it.

Impersonating Malfoy was proving exhausting, all emotional and nothing physical. Snape had kept his promise, watching over his 'godson' and keeping him from all the torturing that occurred down in the cellars of Malfoy Manor. She'd been stuck in the dark bedroom, occasionally getting the visit of Veda the house-elf; shut away from everyone on the order of Severus Snape.

It's not that she particularly disapproved of Snape's methods of keeping Draco from turning into a murderer, of turning into a real Death Eater and a monster, but she couldn't help but to feel useless and inept. There were people—innocent people, people she'd known, victims—down in those cellars, being tortured and murdered and she was just sitting in Malfoy's bedroom drinking tea and eating the food Veda had brought up for her. (Food that'd been practically shoved down her throat as the house-elf blackmailed her into doing by punishing herself.)

She was Hermione Granger, she was meant to assist the fight for the greater good of the world. She was supposed to help, to save lives, to put a stop to the war. But no, Fate was not a friend of Hermione Granger's at the moment. Fate had decided that she hated Hermione; that she deserved to be punished for some reason that Hermione couldn't comprehend.

Not only was she stuck in Draco Malfoy's body, listening to the deaths and the screams of innocent people, enduring the chills of nightmares of her torture from the previous summer, being in the presence of Dumbledore's murderer, but she had to witness a poor soul taint his hands with blood; all the while loathing himself.

After stumbling into Malfoy's bedroom two days ago, catching Zabini sitting at the edge of Malfoy's bed, looking completely miserable and like he was about to end his life, Hermione had pleaded in her own way for him to stay. She hadn't cared that the voice that escaped her lips was that of Malfoy's, but she needed to help Blaise. She needed to be there for him, support him as he faced the fact that he'd been inducted to Voldemort's circle.

Blaise hadn't commented on the curious and strange way 'Draco' had been acting, only shooting him a look full of disbelief as 'Draco' told him to get into the bed and sleep. He hadn't said a word when 'Draco' had told him that he was here for him, that he would help him in anything that he needed. He hadn't questioned when 'Draco' promised him that they were going to find a way out of this, that he vowed to make sure he found safety. Nothing had been said from Slytherin to Slytherin as 'Draco' took a seat on the armchair and sat silently; allowing Blaise to sleep in his bed and drift away from the fact that he had the dark mark branded into his skin now.

Hours had passed since then, and then Hermione endured the presence of Snape for an entire minute when he had entered the bedroom and told Zabini he was required for something. Blaise had shot 'Draco' a look, but as Snape had thrown his 'godson' a cautionary one, Hermione had to force herself to make Malfoy's silver eyes look away.

She had let Snape take Zabini. She had let him lead Blaise to a bloodbath, she was sure of it.

Sighing deeper, more frustration seeping into her system as it had been an entire day now since she heard from Blaise, Snape, or anyone.

_Knock. Knock._

Launching herself out of the armchair she'd been sulking in since she woke up ages ago, Hermione made Malfoy's feet hurriedly rush towards the door.

And as she turned the handle, hoping deep from Malfoy's chest that it was Blaise, all that optimism was squashed as Fate decided to spit at her face and laugh; bringing someone to the door Hermione didn't necessarily want to see ever in her life.

It was Lucius Malfoy.

"We need to talk," the blonde and disgraced man said to his son, trying to hold his head up high like how he was holding the glass with liquor in his left hand. "Let me in."

_For goodness sake_, Hermione groaned internally. Inhaling once, deeply, she pushed her annoyance and repugnance away as she stared at the man with the traditional Malfoy mask of nothingness. "I don't think that's a good idea, Father," she pulled out her dull tone. "It's best if you leave my wing now."

"Despite the people in this house, Draco, this is still _my_ home," Lucius retorted firmly, frowning instantly at his son's brush-off. "As such, we need to discuss the fact that Severus has been keeping you away from…activities. When the Dark Lord returns, Draco, he won't be pleased."

Hermione stared at the man with the mask still on, but it was slowly trying to wither away the more he spoke and the more she grew disgusted. "You wish me to go torture people, Father? Would that help restore respect to the family name?"

Mister Malfoy's grey eyes darkened, becoming black as fury seeped into them. He clutched onto his glass of liquor tightly, his free hand shaking before balling into a fist. "I'm protecting you," he said after a moment of tensed silence. "The Dark Lord has no place for the weak, Draco. _I'm protecting you_. Severus is the one putting you in danger. You know how this works."

"If you wanted to protect me you should've _never_ become a Death Eater," and then the Malfoy-charade was gone. She was back to being Hermione, back to being the righteous girl she always was. She couldn't hold it; she couldn't pretend to feel nothing when there was nothing but hate and outrage bubbling inside Malfoy's body that she was producing. She didn't know what possessed her to do so, the Malfoys had chosen their side, but somehow it felt wrong.

How could Lucius look his son in the eyes and tell him that partaking in the torture of others, in their _murder_, would protect him? How could he say that by joining a sick and vile cause was for his son's benefit? How could he insinuate that by following Voldemort—by pushing his son to do the same—was for Draco's good?

After a second of letting his son's comment sink into his ears, Lucius took his free hand and clasped the boy's shirt with deep force. "Don't, Draco. Don't you dare for a second—"

"Let him go." Interrupting the hostile moment between father and son with a _clink, clink, clink_ that had gone unheard by the two blondes, another one approached. "Step away from him," Narcissa Malfoy ordered, wand out and pointing it to her husband.

Instantly, Lucius let his grip go. "I need to talk to him," he told his wife, something in his grey eyes going from angry to distressing. "He needs to realize what's going on, Cissy."

"He needs not to hear you," Narcissa replied, stepping closer to her son; standing in front of him like a mother about to protect her child from an attack. "He will not be participating in anything, Lucius."

"He'll be reprimanded!" Mister Malfoy hissed at his wife, pulling on a frown that did not reach his eyes with fury but instead made them glaze with anxiousness. "Do you want the Dark Lord to know that Draco's been dodging his responsibilities? The Dark Lord gave him tasks, Cissy. He's to complete them."

Mrs. Malfoy kept her mask on as she looked at her husband, nothingness on her face as she inched her son a little further away from the doorway. "Severus has informed the Dark Lord of Draco's assistance to him. He gave me his word the Dark Lord won't harm Draco. He is not going down to those cellars."

Lucius erased some of that anxiety in his grey eyes and replaced it with resentment. "Severus is meddling," he told his wife, his free hand back into a fist. "I'm doing what's best for Draco, he is not. Severus doesn't see clearly the place we are in, Narcissa. The Dark Lord won't tolerate preferences, especially since Draco failed to murder Dumbledore! He is our son and I'll—"

"He is _my_ son!" And then Narcissa Malfoy's blank tone was gone, fury and her own share of indignation taking over. "And I'll protect his well-being—something that you've neglected to do years ago, Lucius." She pushed her son back into his room, turning on her heel and slamming the door on her husband's face.

To say that she was surprised was an understatement. Through Malfoy's silver eyes Hermione stared at his mother, watched her heave as she tried to settle her anger; as she tried to pull on her mask.

Still very shocked, Hermione took a hesitant step towards the woman who had once looked down at her. "Mother," she called her, the word burning at the tip of Malfoy's tongue. As much as she was pretending to be the ferret, she was still sensitive to the fact that she'd sent her own mother away; a mother that didn't know Hermione existed now. "Are you alright?"

Narcissa looked up at her son, blue eyes ranging between infuriated, sadness, frustration, and regret. "…We aren't a family," the woman muttered. "We haven't been for a while, have we?"

_Don't say anything_, Hermione told herself, holding the words she wanted Malfoy's lips to say. _She is not your mother. This is not your place to console. _And she hated to think that way, but she couldn't respond. She wasn't sure what Malfoy's family-bond was like. She didn't know his problems or his nightmares.

Taking the silence as an answer, like her question had been rhetorical, Narcissa Malfoy fixed her fine dress-robes and straightened her posture. Her expression was back to being masked and her blue eyes blank.

And without a word, without another look, Hermione watched Mrs. Malfoy head out of her son's bedroom. The woman had muttered a spell, making sure the room was locked from the outside so no one unwanted could come in.

Hermione let out a giant breath as she could hear Mrs. Malfoy's footsteps echo in distance from the hall outside. She headed to the bed dressed in silky, black sheets that was pressed against the middle wall of the room. She'd been right. Being Malfoy was far more emotionally exhausting than a physical one.

Not only was she dealing with his problems but with her own as well. She couldn't push away the thoughts of watching Mister and Mrs. Malfoy and not think of her parents. They were everything the Malfoys were not. Her father was a firm man, yes, but he was nothing but marshmallow on the inside; and her mother was warm, sweet, and caring. Her parents loved her, and they made sure she knew it from the very first moment of her life. In Malfoy's case, on the other hand, she doubted he felt the same way.

His family might be pureblooded, his family might be considered the best among the Wizarding World—according to other bigotry and ignorant idiots—but they were frozen. They were not a family, they were acquaintances. And in the field, with her dirty blood and muggle parents, Hermione knew she was superior to the Malfoys. Her family was genuine.

Wiping away a tear that'd fallen as she thought that, as she remembered her parents, there was a _crack_ bouncing off the bedroom walls and then there was an intruder.

"Malfoy," Hermione gasped, shooting into a sitting position from the middle of his bed as she found brown eyes staring at her from across the room. "What are you doing here?"

At her loud tone, Malfoy frowned disapprovingly at the Bookworm possessing his body. Pulling out her wand from the pocket of her muggle-jeans, he waved it at his bedroom door; casting a Silencing Charm.

"How you're the brightest witch of the age, I'll never know," he sneered at her, crossing her arms over her chest. "Someone could be outside, Granger. Use your head and think."

Too surprised and overwhelmed to be upset, Hermione inspected the figure before her. "How'd you get inside? It was Veda, wasn't it? There's no other way you could've apparated inside. _Wait_—why are you here?"

"I said think, not babble," Malfoy snapped at the girl, rolling her eyes in the process with his share of frustration. "But to answer your question…I finally got a moment of solitude and decided to check up on you."

Hermione knitted the boy's brows. "Check up on me, why?"

"Were you not…You haven't gone on any missions, then?" Draco asked, furrowing his borrowed-brows too. "You've been here all this time?"

"Snape doesn't let me, well _you_," she told him, a questioning look still playing on the face that wasn't hers. "Do you know something, Malfoy? Was there an attack?"

Malfoy dropped his confused looked and instead masked the Bookworm's expression into nothing.

"Who's hurt?" Hermione asked, worry thumping in her borrowed-heart. She was smart after all, she knew what that silence and attempt to not reveal anything was about. There had been an attack. Something had happened.

Puffing out air from between Granger's lips, Malfoy took cautious steps towards his own bed. "Death Eaters attacked Diagon Alley," he informed her. "Tonks, the Weasley girl and I were supposed to be buying…dresses for some rubbish wedding for the older Weasel, and we were ambushed." He stopped at the foot of his bed, staring into his own silver eyes as they filled with anticipating tears.

"A-And?"

"….They got you," Malfoy muttered, looking away from his own face twisting into sadness. He moved Granger's fragile fingers and pulled up the sleeve of the sweater he made her body wear; exposing her left arm. "It was Bellatrix again."

Hermione edged closer to her own body, squinting Malfoy's eyes to try and see through the dim light in the room. And as she managed to zero in on her own flesh, Hermione noticed that the carved in words of 'MUDBLOOD' on her arm were not scars that had stitched themselves up months ago—they were reopened wounds, thicker ones.

Taking one of Malfoy's long fingers, Hermione allowed herself to reach over and trace his fingertip over her arm. She felt her torn and rampaged skin. It was bumpy, thick, scabby, and deep. It was bright red, tender to the last decree. She was sure it was never going to fade away now, not with the redone damage to her flesh.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, halting Malfoy's fingertip over the slanted B on her wound. She looked up at the Slytherin, meeting her own eyes that he had transformed into emotionless orbs. "…I'm sorry, Malfoy."

"What for, Granger?" Draco stared back at his own face, his eyes looking concerned. Something that was not normal for him, the emotion so sincere.

Hermione did not remove his finger from her mutilated forearm. "I didn't want you to get hurt," she murmured. "Not by being me, Malfoy…I-I should've know, though… We're at war, I'm a Mudblood and—"

"Leave it, Granger," Malfoy hissed at the girl, ripping her arm away from his fingers. "This wasn't your fault, so shut up. I don't need your apology nor do I want it."

She raised one of his eyebrows, confusion back onto his face. He was aggravated, she could see that clearly, it was an emotion she was so keen to see on him, but there was something else. For a second she saw something that seemed like offense, like he'd been offended and ashamed.

"I should go," he spoke the next few seconds, glaring at the Gryffindor Princess. "The Weaslette went to spend the night with Lovegood, having some sort of sleepover at the headquarters for your precious Order while you're meant to have undisturbed bed-rest all night." He glared a little rougher, something crossing his head as he licked her bottom lip and caught the fruity flavor to them. "…Though I expect the Weasel doesn't know the meaning of that. He's snuck up to visit more times than should be appropriate, Granger."

Though she was no longer surprised, merely confused thoroughly, Hermione ignored his last bit; ignoring the sneer he was making her wear. "Don't go," she didn't know why she said it, but she stood back on his feet and walked towards her body. "Don't leave, Malfoy."

About to call for his house-elf, Draco was taken aback as Granger made his fingers grasp her wrist, pulling him towards her. "What are you on about, Granger? I can't stay here."

"No one's coming," tears were pooling into her borrowed-eyes and she didn't know why. It felt like it'd been a long day, a long day where her emotions had been throttled and butchered and exhausted. She couldn't be Hermione because she was Malfoy; she couldn't be around his acquaintances because she loathed them; she couldn't be around his Godfather because he was a traitor; she couldn't be around Blaise because he wasn't here.

But with Malfoy around she could have a shred of normality back. She could have her body around, she could have a connection to those she longed for, a connection to those she loved and missed.

"…_Please_."

He was a shred of sanity, even in the insanity of it all.

Draco stared back at the girl, watched her turn his eyes into a reflection of her despair; of her tiredness and her withering faith. It was what _he_ was doing to her—what his body and his home were doing. They were eating her up alive, tearing her apart little by little.

He was given warmth, affection, and friendship—even if they weren't meant for him—and she got his darkness. Yeah, he'd gotten tortured for being her, but she'd gotten tortured for being her too and that didn't cancel their situations off. He had the upper-hand, she was losing it.

"Fine," he told her in a tone too low. "But once Veda enters the room I must leave. I told her to appear if someone headed this way."

Hermione nodded, his blonde hair tousling around as she did so. She pulled him with his own fingers, leading him back to the bed; not catching the skepticism laced with aversion that Malfoy was expressing across her face. She just wanted to lie down, to go into silence and solitude with the only thing that was hers in Malfoy Manor.

As Granger settled him on his bed, putting his body on the right side of it, Draco hesitantly lowered her own on the left side. He lay down next to her, still well aware that she was holding his—her own—hand. Their fingers were intertwined, but he or she didn't say anything. They just lay together, like it was normal.

Giving him a squeeze with his own fingers, Malfoy turned to look at the Bookworm. For a second, a rather short one, he didn't see her in his body, he saw her in her own. He could see her brown eyes staring at him, and though there was exhaustion beyond belief like in all those pictures he'd seen of her, there was also warmth. There was something pure and defined.

Without wanting to try and figure it out, he shut his borrowed-eyes as he enjoyed the comfort of his silk sheets instead of the Weasleys quilts. And without knowing why, he squeezed her fingers too.


	15. Things that Begin and Things that End

**This Is War**

**Chapter Fourteen: **Things that Begin and Things that End**  
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She didn't know what it was, what made things this way.

She assumed it had to do with Fate, with how it was a downright bitch and it did whatever it pleased. Personally, she disliked Fate very much. She couldn't understand how it had all the answers; how it knew everything simply because that's the way things were destined to be. It was unfair, to be perfectly honest. One should gain such knowledge through experience, through lessons learned and much understanding, not just _because_. But of course, Fate's a force of the Universe and it does whatever it bloody wants to do.

Leaving aside the feeling of not being in control that she very much hated, she assumed that Fate had its uses once in a while. It sometimes had the decency, the brilliance to put people together that would've never have sat next to one another given the chance. It weaves people in and out of each others' lives, placing them next to you when all you want to do is sit on your own and it forces a conversation out of you.

She never liked anyone telling her what to do or who to befriend, but she allowed Fate to slide away with this one because it brought to her some insight on someone she would've never approached by her own accord.

"I never did ask you, how was your holiday?" Looking up from her stack of books and open notes, a witch blinked her dark eyes to the person sitting across from her.

"Uneventful, actually," clearing the throat of the boy she was supposed to be, Hermione smiled dimly at the girl before her. "And yours, Greengrass?"

Daphne puffed out a bit of air, leaning against the back of her chair lazily. "It's as good as a holiday can get stuck inside school," her tone was a bit bitter. "Astoria hated it. We couldn't see our father, not that he wanted us to leave the castle anyway. McGonagall took to following us around, actually."

Hermione raised a white brow that wasn't hers. "McGonagall, really?"

"She was in her Animagus form most of the time but I noticed her," Daphne said offhandedly, staring at the boy across from her intently. There was something in her dark orbs; something like suspicion and curiosity. But as soon as she'd allowed it to flash and reveal itself, it was gone. "But other than that, I still suppose your holiday was more eventful than mine."

"Why's that?" Hermione countered, thinking to herself that she needed to owl Remus. She hadn't received any written response that he was going to be protecting Blaise Zabini, let alone Daphne and her family. That could only be the reason that the Headmistress was watching the Greengrass girls, and if Remus had obliged to her, she wanted to know if she could be of some assistance in the process.

Once again, Daphne allowed a certain amount of curiosity to stretch across her expression. "I share a dormitory with Pansy," she said casually. "She's been having nightmares since she returned to Hogwarts. She speaks incoherently, none of the girls notice or care, but I do. She's begun her training to be one of you, hasn't she?"

Her natural instinct—well, Malfoy's natural instinct that still lingered in his skin and cells as she possessed it—was to snap back; attack her for her 'one of you' comment. But leaving aside what she's seen, what she knew from her stay at Malfoy Manor, Hermione couldn't deny the truth in the girl's comment. Malfoy _was_ a Death Eater. Just because he was threatened into it, because his family had fallen from Voldemort's grace, didn't erase the Dark Mark on his arm.

"I don't see why you care about her," was Hermione's choice of response instead; still very Malfoy-ish. "She chose her path, Greengrass, and you chose yours."

The Slytherin witch erased all emotions from her face, a mask on now of complete nothingness. "She did," and it was a harsh whisper, "but it still doesn't make it right, Draco. She's just a girl…She was my friend. She's choosing wrong. And I'm not afraid to say that _all_ of you have chosen wrong. You're children and you're torturing and killing like vindictive old men."

She wanted to smile, wanted to reach over and squeeze Daphne's hand. It was enlightening, beautiful to know that Dumbledore had been completely right; that she'd been right too. In every dark soul there was a form of light. There was redemption and hope in even the darkest night.

Forced to say something that she would've never dared to say, Daphne sighed warily as she couldn't help herself. Malfoy had remained silent; giving an indirect go-ahead to the thoughts in her brain that needed to control themselves. "…Sometimes I'm cruel enough to think that my mother's death served a purpose. Like her murder helped spare Astoria and I from the same fate all of you are destined with."

Hermione stopped all optimistic emotions trying to spread on Malfoy's face and she just looked up at the blonde girl.

"I miss her every day," Daphne continued, her eyes fighting to hold the mask as a glaze threatened to invade, "but sometimes…especially now that I get to hear Pansy's nightmares at night, I'm glad she opened my eyes. That could've been me…_I_ could've been the one to take someone else's life and live with watching that person's face in my dreams; guilt eating me inside." She looked deeply at the boy across from her, something passing from her to him in the tiniest wave—trust. "But I live with a clean conscience and only my mother to mourn."

Fate was a tricky force when it pushed Daphne Greengrass into her life, she knew. And if it hadn't been for the curse of the body-swap she would've never known the Slytherin girl's story. She would've never known she was in danger, that she suffered, and most importantly, that Hermione understood her. Looking into the Slytherin's dark eyes, Hermione could see the longing for her deceased mother, for a father that she couldn't see due to safety arrangements, and she understood it to the fullest.

She hadn't lost her mother, but both her parents were sent faraway. She understood that, could bond with Daphne with the pain and a hole left in the chest for being alone. And in a way, in that very moment, Hermione knew that Malfoy could too and that maybe Daphne knew that all along.

And almost like summoning the devil with just a thought, Hermione saw her own body march right into the library with a sway to her every step as Ginny and Luna tried to keep up with the brunette figure.

She felt Malfoy's body stiffen, a sense of alert going off in every cell of his skin as her body stopped right beside them; his heart giving a loud thump that hurt in the process.

"Greengrass," the brunette turned her narrowed brown eyes at the blonde Slytherin girl, "mind leaving, I need to talk to Malfoy for a bit."

Noticing the hostility on the Brightest Witch of the Age, the way how her usually gentle and all-knowing eyes were masked in indifference, or how her house-mate had tensed up, looking nervous, all Daphne could do for a few silent seconds was stare and calculate. There was something odd about this, she could _feel_ it. It was like someone was trying to lie right under her nose—and Daphne could always tell when someone was trying to bullshit her.

"Sure, Granger," the Slytherin witch finally spoke up, narrowing her dark eyes back at the girl as she gathered her belongings. And as she did so, as she gracefully placed her books into her schoolbag, she shot a curious look at her still-rigid house-mate. "Draco, see you in class, alright?"

Not replying to Daphne, just giving her a withering smile as she tried to adjust herself, as she tried to adjust this sensation that Malfoy's body was giving her, Hermione glanced up at the Gryffindor redhead and blonde Ravenclaw standing behind her body.

"Go find a table," the brunette turned, eyeing her company blankly. "I'll go find you later."

"Are you sure?" Ginny asked, eyeing the wrong Draco Malfoy with complete distrust. "Ron and Harry would throw a fit if they knew I left you alone with the Slytherin Prat."

Witnessing the redhead's flare, her soul aching for the mentioned names of her best friends, Hermione couldn't help but let a little smile come on to Malfoy's face.

And catching that little gesture, Luna's blue eyes lit up with something as she reached over and took her best friend's hand. "Come on, Gin. I'm sure Draco will behave himself. Let's go find a table."

"I'm watching you, Malfoy," Ginny threatened, pointing a dangerous finger at the blonde boy sitting on the library table as the Ravenclaw started tugging her away. "Don't try anything or I will hex your manly-bits off."

Turning away from the Weaslette and Loony Lovegood, Draco pulled out a seat across from his own perfection; rolling his borrowed-eyes. "Bloody charming and eloquent people you're friends with, Granger. True definition of refinement they are, honestly."

Despite knowing that it was an insult, Hermione made Malfoy's mouth tug on a brighter smile. "Oh, shut up, Malfoy. You know they're just being protective. It's what they do."

"It's _annoying_," Draco responded in a matter-of-fact way. "The Weasley girl practically follows me into the loo. Not to mention her and the Weasel practically fight to assist me in the shower. I was tortured; I'm not going down the pipes."

Hermione let a small laugh escape from her borrowed-lips. "I'm surprised Mrs. Weasley allowed you to leave her house, actually."

"Don't think she didn't try to persuade Lupin and McGonagall to keep me in bed-rest for another week," the Slytherin trapped inside the Gryffindor Princess said. "I had to sink down to my levels of blackmail to get Potter to convince them it was alright for me to return."

"And what methods of blackmail were those?"

If he hadn't been sitting across from himself, if he hadn't been viewing his perfect face and brilliant eyes, Malfoy would've never believed the glow that his entire facial expression was giving. He could see it, some emotion that he most certainly had never felt before growing in his gaze as Granger kept that ridiculous smile on his mouth.

It was soft, gentle, true—it was all _her_. Her Granger-ness was seeping into him; molding him and driving away the Slytherin essence within him.

"I saw the Weaslette sneak into his room when the rest of the Weasleys were eating," Draco finally spoke, sounding distant as he pondered over things that should've never been thought of. "They were there for an hour, so, clearly, Potter's been releasing stress."

Hermione snorted, shaking Malfoy's blonde hair. "You would be crude, Malfoy," it was supposed to be her regular insult but she found it was not laced with disgust, only a mild disapproval.

Malfoy said nothing more; all he did was place his borrowed-hands onto the surface of the table. He observed them once more. He inspected every line, the golden-tone of her skin, the pink undertone of it, the freckles, and the thin fingers.

"Malfoy?"

It was strange, he mused to himself as he continued observing the girl's hands, that they were in fact hers, but when he touched something, when he made her fingertips trace over sentences of his essays or books, or even when he used them to shove the Weasel and Potter from his borrowed-body, everything felt the same way like if he was using his own hands.

"Malfoy, you okay?"

Everything was rough. His borrowed-hands didn't absorb the gentleness of the things Granger loved, they just felt everything he hated.

"_Malfoy_," Hermione called again in a hushed whisper, raising an eyebrow at the boy in her body. And when she called him a fourth time she reached over with his hand and grabbed her own that were resting on the table; squeezing her right one.

Blinking back into the now, Draco zeroed in on their hands. There it was again, the opposite sensation of what he should be feeling. He didn't feel the tense skin of his hands, the rough fingertips, or the cold temperature of it—he felt her. He felt her caring, her warmth, and her soft skin.

And as Malfoy contemplated how mental that was, as Hermione stared worriedly at him, neither of the two noticed a figure watching them from the entrance of the library.

The two students were staring at one another, oblivious to anything else, and Aphrodite Venus could see their souls fighting to get out of the bodies that weren't theirs. She could see the boy's soul shoving, clawing, trying to get out like if it was in pain; she could see the girl's soul trying to reach out, trying to escape only to ease the boy's restrained agony.

She pulled out her notepad and golden-pen. And with a blink away from the two souls, she flipped open her notepad and wrote, _it's starting._

Just as she closed her notepad, placing it and her pen inside the pockets of her pure-white robe, she slithered carefully away from the entrance as a raging boy marched in; his emerald eyes finding the Slytherin and Gryffindor sharing a table.

"Are you alright?" Hermione whispered softly. "Is it the side-effects of the curse? I know it's been a few days, but usually the effects don't wear off until a few months."

Malfoy stared at her, at the way she was making his face twist with deep concern, like it mattered that he was in pain. And he was, but it wasn't due to the torture curse his Aunt Bellatrix sent his way as he posed as the Gryffindor Princess.

But before he could figure out what exactly was hurting, someone approached them with thumping footsteps; halting beside the table and spreading an aura of complete hostility.

Looking down at the two students, Blaise Zabini stared at the brunette girl for a moment before flashing his green eyes at his friend. "Malfoy," his tone was too deep and rough, "we need to talk." He clenched his fist, his arms shaking a little.

Clearing her borrowed-throat, Hermione nodded. "Sure, Blaise," she said, concern lacing the tone that was uncharacteristic for the boy she was impersonating that the real Malfoy frowned disapprovingly at her.

Blaise looked away from his house-mate as he started gathering his belongings and resumed his observing on the Gryffindor. She was sitting there, back tensed, hands balled, and an almost- glower on her face as she looked directly at him. Her brown eyes were narrowed, showing disapproval, but they were masked with something Blaise couldn't quite put his finger on.

Something was off, he concluded, and his instincts almost confirmed it by the way Hermione Granger sneered and Draco Malfoy looked apprehensive.

**X**

Opening the door of the dormitory that Malfoy shared with Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini, Hermione carefully stepped into the cold room and headed towards the four-poster that belonged to the Slytherin Prince. His bed was the only one kept tidy, the emerald sheets tucked and the pillows perfectly fluffed; all courtesy of Hermione's need for organization.

As she settled his schoolbag on the marbled floor, she leaned against the frame of Malfoy's four-poster as Blaise eyed her suspiciously. She didn't say anything, just watched the dark-skinned boy she hadn't seen or talked to since he showed her his dark mark days ago. He'd been avoiding 'Malfoy', hiding in the shadows and leaving before she could approach him.

Hermione inhaled and exhaled soothingly, Zabini's glare making her uncomfortable. And as she was doing so, as she was trying to summon her inner-Malfoy, she caught a whiff of his natural aroma.

It was icy, minty, with a mix of cologne that smelled as expensive as it smelled masculine. She looked down at the floor, she was instantly comforted. She remembered that smell, the way it was the scent radiating off the pillows at Malfoy Manor, on the sheets of his four-poster, of his clothing.

Shaking Malfoy's head, refusing to smile at the thought, Hermione glanced back up at the silent boy standing across from her. "What was the rush, Zabini?" She questioned, sounding thoroughly impatient. "Tell me what's got your knickers in a twist, I haven't all day."

Blaise stood taller, his hands still clutched into fists since he'd dragged his friend from the library, and his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

Hermione rose an eyebrow, trying to swallow her concern and the alarm inside Malfoy's chest warning that there was about to be trouble. "Zabini," she called again, Malfoy's voice tense now, "what is it?"

The dark-skinned Slytherin was shivering now, the cold and lifeless atmosphere of the dormitory licked up his exposed skin and daggered its teeth into him.

"Blaise," Hermione spoke again, this time stepping away from Malfoy's four-poster and making her way carefully to the boy. "You're scaring me. What's wrong?"

His instincts set off again, telling him something was completely wrong, put Zabini thrust it all away when his left hand released its clutch and sunk into the pocket of his trousers. He was still shaking, his chest heaving now, and he practically punched what he took out into the blonde's hands.

Startled back a step, Hermione blinked away from the Slytherin and unfolded the photograph he'd handed to her. And as Malfoy's long fingers steadily opened it, she almost dropped all pretenses and acts as her borrowed-eyes bulged with complete horror.

It was a magicked photo, but nothing moved. All she could see was the shadow of someone on the marbled floor—a floor that was overflowing with red liquid. It was blood. It was blood that pooled and swam, touching everything in its path; even the expensive furniture and rug in the room. And in the center of that rug, the source of blood gushing out was a woman. She was completely bare, sliced and mutilated from the arms and thighs. Her skin used to be dark, a soft mocha color, Hermione could see it; but all that she was glowing was with the pale hue of her life pulled from her body.

The woman's face—one that was surely beautiful and glamorous pre-death and torture—was stoic and stiff. Her eyes were left open, the shining emerald green of them not sufficing the extreme shadow of fear and pain in them.

This was what was left of Zabini's mother.

"…Blaise," Hermione squeaked past Malfoy's lips; making his hands drop the photograph.

"The Dark Lord ordered it," Blaise muttered roughly, body still shivering. "It was my punishment for not assisting in the attack on Diagon Alley. Yaxley requested it."

Malfoy's silver eyes lit up with tears, Hermione was hurting for the dark-skinned boy in front of her.

"I ran," Blaise said, his whisper broken rather than enraged. "They wanted me to kill the Weasley girl. I couldn't, Draco…I couldn't and they murdered my mother." His eyes flashed towards the faced-down photograph on the floor of the dormitory. "…They didn't use the Killing Curse….They just let her bleed out."

Zabini dropped on his knees, shoulders shaking violently, and Hermione cared not to play Malfoy in that moment. She rushed forward, sweeping the dark-skinned boy into Malfoy's toned arms and she hugged him with all the strength her borrowed-body had.

He was crying—a sob escaping his mouth that roared with everything he'd been holding in. It rippled from his chest, scratching everything on its way up. It hurt, hurt more than receiving the dark mark, more than anything he'd been hiding and keeping a secret from the world.

It had just been her and him, just mother and son for so long. He was her only family, his only parent, his only connection to the damned pureblood world she brought him into. And now she was gone and he was alone.

"She was my mum," Blaise cried harder, gripping and digging his nails into the covered arms of his friend. "She was my mum."

Hermione held him tighter, pressing him against a chest that wasn't hers. Her heart broke for Blaise, and so she cried tears along with him. He was another name added to the list. He was another person who lived the war without the comfort of parents, another who was alone.

**X**

The night breeze was refreshing as it blew through the grounds of Hogwarts. It weaved through the leaves of the trees, knocking them down and sending them across hills and far towards the Black Lake. The moon was glowing in a crescent at the corner of the darkening sky. The light of it was faint; the bubble of protection surrounding the castle and its ground dimmed it through its sheen of spells.

He was staring at the furthest ends of the grounds, watching those leaves flow, fall, rise, flow, fall, rise, flow, and then disappearing into the nature of Hogwarts. He'd once was told by the looniest of Ravenclaws that this particular type of weather—cold and windy, maybe a little rain—was the best to help clear a crowded mind. He'd written off as one of her insane ramblings, of course, but as he sat there, cold air touching him, he thought that maybe the Ravenclaw wasn't so off her rocker.

The cold was his home after all, how could he not find some clarity there? He wasn't a touchy-feeling person like the bloody Hufflepuffs, so of course the sun and the sharing of secrets wasn't his thing. He was used to solitary, just like the cold-blooded snakes that found dark caves and hid there. He was bound to find the answers to his dodgy thoughts and assumptions in what he knew, right?

"Look at her over there," _thud_. "Merlin, I hate her."

Sighing as all that internal piece was swept away from him, Draco scrunched his face in complete distaste as a dirty-blonde girl with a frown of her own stood beside his lonely bench. "Hello to you too, Lavender," he spit out through clenched teeth, cursing Granger for being so damn polite and on first-name bases with all her ruddy house-mates.

"Do shut up, Granger," Lavender scoffed at the brunette with her thick book uncharacteristically closed over her lap. "I'm not here for chit-chat, alright. Just sit there and let me witness this unholy situation before us."

Biting back an insult to the idiotic girl, Draco chose to see what was making her face scowl with complete disgust. And sure enough, he saw Lovegood, Thomas and Longbottom sitting underneath the leaves of a tree a few feet away.

Longbottom was reading something, glancing back and forth between the open pages and a plant root clutched in his right fingers. Thomas had his book open too, but it was disregarded as he watched intently as Lovegood spoke to him. She seemed to be explaining something, lifting one of the roots and showing them to the dark-skinned Gryffindor. A few more seconds of this, and then Thomas laughed loudly, startling Longbottom from his reading and making a dreamy smile appear on the Ravenclaw's face.

"What are the chances he's laughing _at_ her?" Lavender murmured, crossing her arms angrily over her chest. "I mean, what's not to laugh at? Just look at her for Godric's sake. She's completely off, and yet he hangs about her like she's something."

"Maybe he hangs about her because she's not filled with petty jealousy," Malfoy retorted, annoyed beyond repair. He glanced up from the book he'd taken from Granger's personal collection to help him pass as her more easily, cocking an eyebrow mockingly at the Brown girl. "You leave him with absolutely no desire to hang about you because of that irritating voice and nonstop chatter you do, Brown. Yes, Lovegood talks about complete rubbish but she at least has the decency to shut up most of the time."

Lavender glared at her house-mate, trying her hardest not to let her see the surprise and twinge of hurt she felt. "Well, Granger, you and I are in the same cauldron then, I reckon. You and your know-it-all attitude leaves you alone because, come off it, who _wants_ to hear you go on and on?"

_I want to hear her_, Malfoy thought bitterly, unwillingly, that he didn't even register it as he snorted towards the girl. He crossed his borrowed-arms and stared blankly as he tried to recall something he could wound the Gryffindor with.

And as he found it, a leer so Slytherin-like pulled on Granger's lips. "Well, Lavender, I beg to differ on that. You see, while I am a know-it-all, I'm also the one who took Ron Weasley from you," oh, Salazar, that was nauseating to say but he continued, "and Lovegood's still the one who has Thomas."

Inhaling deep through her nostrils, the cold air burning her lungs as it traveled in, Lavender had to control herself before she stupidly attempted to hex the Brightest Witch of the Age. "I knew you were jealous about my relationship with Ron," she spoke stiffly, "and I knew that you fancied him, Hermione, but now you're just lying."

"Meaning?" Draco asked casually, still making Granger's mouth smirk.

"You're not with Ron," Lavender replied instantly, "and you don't fancy him anymore. I might be everything that annoys you, but I'm _not_ stupid. I see things, and I know you stopped looking at him like he was the only person in the room since Seventh Year began. Something happened during the summer, I've seen him stare at Harry and you like you hurt him."

Malfoy dropped the smirk, his borrowed-eyes now confused.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? He knew from his impersonation of Granger that the Golden Trio had fled during the summer, camping across Britain to hunt for Horcruxes that would put an end to the Dark Lord, but nothing intimate had been mentioned. The Weasel had apologized for something, he remembers, and he also recalled the distrust in his eyes when Potter stuck around 'Granger' too long.

"I must admit that he'd been yours from the beginning," the Brown girl interrupted Malfoy's musings, "and that I walked straight into the heartbreak, but _I_ claimed Dean before Lovegood did. And I'm not letting that bloody Ravenclaw get away with him just because she was tossed around the Malfoys cellar and he witnessed it."

Draco cringed. Granger's head filled with his memories of watching two different Death Eaters hex the eccentric Ravenclaw the previous summer and it made the skin he was wearing rigid.

Knowing that maybe she took that too far, Lavender huffed and picked up her schoolbag from the bench; subduing her remorse with the pain of being constantly replaced. "Pleasure as always," she said fleetingly, already stalking away as Dean left his classmates and headed away from them.

Not being so quick to subdue his share of remorse, Draco used Granger's brown eyes to glance back towards that tree a few feet away. He eyed the blonde Ravenclaw carefully, feeling his soul wither slightly at fact that he'd allowed her—another defenseless girl—to be tortured by a sadistic person.

She was a pureblood, a Blood Traitor, but she'd always been so small and thin. She was younger than he was, almost a child with her innocence and made-up rubbish, and he'd watched her take the pain of curses and blows of fists. And through all that, as he watched from a corner of the cellar, she never begged for mercy once.

Dropping the plant root he'd been studying, Longbottom inched closer to the Ravenclaw; smiling at her gently as she also sat closer to him. Their backs rested upon the thick bark of the tree, and their eyes connected for a second. The air of the night pushed by them, the dim moonlight managing to highlight their faces, and then they went back to reading their books.

It was quick and very secretive, but Lovegood smiled bigger and Longbottom blushed as their hands clasped together, fingers intertwined, and they were hidden between them as they carried on with their studying.

"I wonder how long it'll take Lavender to figure this one out." Turning away from the sickening scene ahead, Malfoy blinked and was met with a pale face and silver eyes. "I saw her stalking Dean when I was headed over here. Poor girl, honestly."

Malfoy cleared his borrowed-throat, scooting to the edge of the bench to leave some open space. "Yeah, well, she seems to be under the impression all her friends are stealing her boyfriends."

"I did not steal her boyfriend," Hermione grumbled, making the Slytherin's face frown. "And neither did Luna. She just needs to stop being so clingy and maybe the boys will stop thinking she's mental."

Malfoy snorted. "Yeah, because being clingy is her only problem."

Hermione smiled lopsidedly, but didn't say anything against the girl she'd been sharing a dormitory with for the past seven years. She instead focused Malfoy's silver eyes ahead, watching Neville and Luna carefully. At first she had felt warmth, longing, nostalgia, but then everything she knew about them came back to her and almost knocked her down.

Luna, motherless; Neville, practically on orphan.

Watching his own eyes glisten with tears, bottom lip quiver slightly, Malfoy didn't know what possessed him to take Granger's little hand and take his own into it. "You miss them," he spoke awkwardly, giving his fingers a squeeze with hers, "your friends."

Hermione blinked, a tear slid down Malfoy's pale cheek as she turned to face him. She could see her face, her button-like nose, her freckles here and there, but she could see him in her brown eyes. The way he made them glow, the way he angled her vision, the tension in them—_he_ was there. Her enemy, a Death Eater, a boy with his own tormenting story she'd experienced firsthand.

"Yes," she whispered, squeezing back. "But that's not all, Malfoy."

"It never really is, Granger."

She took in a deep inhale, making the oxygen reach his lungs so she could buy herself a moment to collect the words she was going to use. "Blaise got his mark," she told him, deciding it was best to be direct. "He was inducted into You-Know-Who's circle during the holidays. As such, he was one of the Death Eaters that participated in the attack where you got hurt." She took in another deep breath. "Spotting Ginny, Yaxley ordered Blaise to…kill her. He couldn't, so he disobeyed and fled and—"

"He was punished," Malfoy finished, nodding once to himself. He knew how this worked, how their sick rituals and Death Eater workshops operated. You did as you were told, simple as that. And if you failed to do so, well, it wasn't Hogwarts and you weren't excused with a deduction of points or detention—you were tortured and made an example of.

Hermione nodded too, squeezing their fingers together tighter to give her courage. "…They murdered his mother, Malfoy," she breathed shakily, tears prickling her borrowed-eyes. "They didn't bother with the killing spell, they just…they actually murdered her with their bare hands."

And they disposed of her body after capturing evidence, most certainly decomposed it until there was nothing of Mrs. Zabini's body left for her son to mourn over—yes, Draco knew what happened next. It's what they did when someone was punished, when they killed a Death Eater's relatives. It's what they'd done to Daphne Greengrass' mother; Bellatrix had been in command for that one and he'd been forced to hear the tale from her mouth like it was the most amusing thing.

_Ding. Ding. Ding._

"Don't worry," Hermione murmured, standing up from the bench as the invisible-bell of Hogwarts signaled that curfew had been called, "I'm going to get him out of this, Malfoy. I'm going to make sure nothing happens to Blaise."

Malfoy looked up at the girl possessing his body, silence taking over for a second. He had nothing to say to her because he already knew that she was protecting his friend, but he was stunned into deeper silence as Granger dared to lean down and press a kiss to his borrowed-cheek.

"Things are going to be okay," was the last thing she made his lips say before she turned and left him.

He wasn't in his own body, but he felt tingles sprout and tickle Granger's skin. He felt something tug inside her chest, reaching his soul and trying to shake it awake. But in that moment he fought to push it away—it didn't matter. Things had changed completely now. If they'd gotten to Zabini's mother, they most definitely could get to his.

He needed to get out of Granger's body soon. His time was being wasted and he needed to come up with a plan to save himself, his mother, and no one else.

He was going to take the coward's way out, fucking all redemption and throwing it out the window.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Tada! <strong>

**Yes, it's a little late than usual, but I hope you like it. I realize that this is a lot more angsty than what I usually write and it's so bizarre. Hmmm. But, anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing! :D  
><strong>


	16. Chances Not Taken

**This Is War**

**Chapter Fifteen: **Chances Not Taken

It had been a month since Granger had told him about the murder of Zabini's mother, a month since she'd kissed him on the cheek to reassure him things would be alright, but things had become far too strange since then.

Neither of them were ones to give up or accept defeat, but it'd seemed like for the time being they had forgotten about the main problem they were facing. Hermione had stopped looking through the endless supply of books at the Hogwarts library and investigating viciously to find a way out of the body-swap and Draco had taken it upon himself to pay close attention to the information selected Gryffindors had instead.

Though Hermione was focusing her time on studying, watching over the Greengrass girls, monitoring Harry and Ron as best she could, and helping Blaise move on with his grieving, she hadn't any idea how she still managed to find some time to sneak off with Malfoy and just coexist.

Knowing that he was just buying time, collecting information, watching carefully for anything that could be of use, Draco couldn't help but notice that the delay of finding a solution wasn't filled with strong paranoia as it'd been a month ago. He had learned to calm himself and just waited. But as he did so, as he listened intently, he didn't know why he always drifted unconsciously to a secluded part of the castle with Granger without much retort.

The first week of unproductively finding anything that could help with the body-swap issue, they had just sat in silence; each doing their share of homework. They studied and pulled off the mask they'd been wearing all day as they posed as each other and just took the time to breathe freely. (Which Hermione used to check the homework Malfoy was submitting as hers thoroughly.)

The second week of unsuccessfully finding anything, Granger had started talking; updating him on Blaise. They talked about each others' friends, letting each other know what was going on in their lives and what they needed to know once they were back to their original bodies. (He'd told her how irritating the Weasel was being, how he was so close to feeding the Brown girl to the Giant Squid, how Potter was still as holy as ever; and she'd informed him that Pansy was still as eager to start a romance with 'him', how Nott was still muttering about attacking the Gryffindors, and how Daphne was the best Slytherin out of the lot.)

On the third week of their informal get-togethers, Hermione had let slip something about her parents. She'd been sad, he could see it in the way his silver eyes grew murky, but he'd refrained from asking. It was until a Tuesday rolled around that she said it was her parents' anniversary. The rest of that week they had started talking about little trivial things, things that they were comfortable with saying and yet were personal. (She had learned his favorite foods, books, colors; and he'd learned that she pretty much enjoyed everything.)

On a Wednesday of the fourth week of their encounters, Draco had been the one who initiated the next move of their understanding. He had arrived late to wherever it was that they were meeting that day because of a mishap in a Herbology project that Finnegan had managed to blow up. He'd be silent, frowning and muttering curses under his breath, until he finally just sighed with great frustration and spoke about the matter.

He told her how his anger had begun when he went to the girls lavatory—Moaning Myrtle's, of course—and started to wash her arms from the dirt when the annoying ghost had pointed out the disgusting scar on her left arm. Draco hadn't told Granger how he'd been refusing to look at it, always making sure he dressed her with long-sleeves so he didn't have to remember how those scars came to be, but he was sure she knew that subconsciously.

It had been with a hesitant and unwilling whisper that he told her, "…I see things now that I hadn't before." He had refused to look at her, not finding comfort that it was technically his face because she was still the one controlling it. "And I saw things I wish I hadn't. It just….it changes everything."

"There's always second chances to make it right," she had whispered back to him after a few moments. And as he still refused to look at her, to let her see that he was a step away from public redemption, she had just leaned into him; resting her borrowed-head onto his borrowed-shoulder.

Nothing had been said after that, but something had definitely shifted in the air that very second. It was different, it was warm, and it was real.

They had some form of friendship.

He should've been repulsed by the idea, by the way she started leaning a little more towards him, laughing like she was with one of her Gryffindors, but he wasn't. Granger was two things to him: a reliever of stress and his reminder of the war. He didn't like it, but she was the only person who he could be a version of himself with. There was no acting like the Bookworm, no trying to be patient, no trying to be understanding—he was just Draco with her.

She should've been a little skeptical about it, really, but she was feeling a little too nostalgic to let her brain rule out the understanding they had. They still had their mishaps, they always would due to their individual necessity to be right, but she could see him start to ease day by day. He would crack a smile sometimes, chuckle under his breath, and sometimes he wouldn't make her eyes glare; just let them be. He was a friend, and as long as she continued to be stuck in his body, then she would take it. She needed the comfort.

Through all of that, through what they'd gathered on their own about their understanding and what they wanted it to mean at the time, there was a little twinge of something in the back of their heads. It was like the comfort had gotten to be secure, like their arguments had gotten entertaining with a hint of irritating, but never murderous.

Things were changing now.

**X**

He was sitting in Granger's four-poster, leaning against the headboard, knees brought up to his borrowed-chest, thinking about things he didn't even know were processing through his head when the door of the dormitory opened and in came two of Granger's dorm-mates.

"It's just—I don't get it!" And just as he thought it was going to be another silent night as the girls in Granger's dormitory would continue to ignore him and he could thrive in the silence, one of the girls let out a giant wail that hurt his borrowed-ears.

"Don't cry, Lav," Parvati Patil put an arm around her best friend's shoulder, lowering her down to the mattress of her four-poster. "Look, I know that nothing I can say is going to ease it, but at least you know you did everything you could."

"Yeah, I did, and I look like a fool now!" The Brown girl continued to cry, her cheeks becoming pink and her eyes blotching with red. "I told him how I felt and he shot me down, Parvati! He broke my heart!"

As she tightened her hold on her friend's shoulder, Parvati throw a pleading glance at the brunette sitting on her bed staring at the situation with a blank look. She needed assistance, and she needed it now before the dormitory exploded with the blonde girl's tantrums.

Draco raised one of Granger's brows, a snort wanting to come out of his borrowed-mouth and throw it at the Gryffindor. There was no way in the Dark Lord's hell that he was going to start talking about touchy subjects with the likes of them; especially not to ease Brown's sobbing-fest. Once she began to grind his gears, then he'd curse her, not pretend to be nice.

Mistaking Hermione's silence as something gallant, like the Brightest Witch of the Age couldn't find anything to say because she'd been somehow implicated in Lavender's past heartache, Parvati let out a sigh. "Lavender, I know it hurts, but now you know to move on. Now, instead of waiting for him to come around, you can just go ahead and forget about him. There's no—"

"You don't get it," the Brown girl interrupted, more tears falling. "I _love_ him, Parvati. I love Dean and he doesn't love me back. You don't even know how that feels, do you? Every boy in Gryffindor has had a crush on you since you developed breasts back in Third Year!"

Though he was still in a girl's body, Draco couldn't help the boy-instincts that had stuck with him throughout the body-swap and he cautiously took a good peek at the Patil girl. Her skin was dark, smooth looking, her hair black as night, wide brown eyes like the color of coffee, and a nice shapely body. She was good looking, Malfoy had to admit it, but she was claimed.

"Lavender, you're a beautiful girl and—"

"Don't!" The blonde girl interrupted her friend once more, pulling away from her hold and standing up from her bed. "Don't give me that speech, Parvati, because you know I hate it. It's the same one you gave me when Ron ditched me last year. I don't want to hear how beautiful I am, how any boy would be lucky to have me—it's _rubbish_! Dean broke my heart! I told him how I felt and he doesn't love me back!"

Parvati sighed tiredly again, looking up at her best friend with sympathetic eyes. "It hurts, Lavender, I'm aware, but what more can you do? Honesty was the best thing. You put your heart out there, and that's really all you could've done. You can't make anyone fancy you back, Lav. You just can't."

"Easy for you to say," Lavender retorted back as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand. "They all like you back." She shook her head, the wiping of tears useless as she shed some more. "….I just wanted him to feel the same way. Just…just once I wanted a boy to feel something for me other than wanting to snog me. I don't want to be a pass-time. I'm tired of getting overlooked, Parvati."

The dark-skinned Gryffindor stood from her bed, opening her arms and pulling her friend into them. "You're not overlooked, Lav," she whispered soothingly. "Dean even told you that. His heart's just somewhere else. You can't blame him for it."

Against her friend's shoulder, Lavender cried more; hugging her back tightly as she felt her heart hurt from having it sliced into a lot of pieces. She knew she was being difficult, but that was how she reacted when someone broke her heart. "…Why do I always like the boys who like someone else?"

"If it's any consolation, Lav, Dean's heart is broken too," Parvati continued to mutter, trying to heal her friend's pain. "He likes someone he can't have."

At that comment from the Gryffindor, Draco felt a tug inside his borrowed-chest. It was like a warning, like a realization trying to make itself noticed. But, of course, he ignored it since he didn't know how to identify it.

"You don't have to lie to me to make me feel better," chuckling with no humor at all, Lavender pulled away from her friend. "Luna might be completely off her rocker, but she's not that off to not go for someone like Dean. He's brilliant."

Parvati knitted her eyebrows in confusion. "No, Lavender, Luna's not interested in—" but before she could even get her sentence fully out, Lavender grabbed a towel that sat on her four-poster and headed towards the shower of the dormitory. "Oh, honestly. That girl only sees what she wants to."

Still eyeing the girl carefully, no longer as evaluating but with curiosity, Malfoy stretched Granger's legs forward; their toned and sun-kissed skin exposed from those ridiculous pajama-shorts the Bookwork owned. "Patil," he called, a tone to Granger's voice like it was actually _him_ talking, "what do you know about love?"

"Love?" Parvati repeated, staring at the brunette with questioning eyes. "What'd you mean, Hermione?"

"I mean, you've been walking around like you just won a thousand galleons. There's this smile on your face that you can't shake off, which is strange, considering we're at war and everything," and even though he said it, Malfoy couldn't believe he'd actually noticed. But then again, it was hard not to. This girl had a connection to someone he knew.

Clearing her throat lightly, Parvati turned away from her house-mate and walked towards the small nightstand at the side of her four-poster. "I can't say I have much experience on love," she said in an attempt of sincerity but her voice went a little high, giving herself away immediately to the Slytherin possessing Hermione's body.

"Take your guess then," Draco added, smirking as the girl had her back to him. "What would you assume love was like?"

Not answering the question immediately, letting seconds tick by as she picked up a heart-shaped necklace from the nightstand, staring at it intently as her dark eyes gleamed with something that can't be contained within in her. Her brain brought forward an image of a boy and she couldn't help but to feel her blood come alive.

"…Love is a mixture of things that you can't identify. It's so much power…like you can change the world if that person's there. It's like the whole world fades," flashes of colored eyes crossed her mind, jumping at her from across a classroom during a lesson, "and nothing else exists. It's a smile to the face that becomes permanent sometimes…or like a knot in your throat because you want to cry tears of disbelief; like you can't believe that person's there."

Those brilliant eyes morphed from the distance and turned into a memory of watching them watch her; silence surrounding them but his gaze exploding with a thousand emotions. "Love can sometimes be unexpected; tying you to someone you would've never looked at before….Love is being able to change things for the better. Nothing bad matters if love is there, its forgiveness."

She felt her heart flutter, tingles of the memories of that boy touched her skin, and she couldn't help that smile that'd been constant on her nowadays. And with a little puff of laughter, Parvati turned from her nightstand and looked at her house-mate casually. "Well, that's what I assume love is. If I were in love, you know."

Malfoy had to resist the urge to roll Granger's eyes at the horrible excuse of a lie that the Patil girl was spewing, but at the same time he felt that little nudge of realization try and make itself noticed again. It was flashing inside of him, trying to get him to pay attention.

Love is forgiveness, Patil had said, and Draco couldn't help but to suddenly feel a warmth seep into Granger's skin; touching his soul. It was like comfort.

However, before he could even ponder through that idea, there were loud _thud, thud, thuds _outside of the dormitory before the door swung open with a loud bang.

"Hermione!"

Dropping the necklace that she'd been holding, Parvati stared wide-eyed and alarmed at the people invading her room. "What's going on?"

Ignoring her, Harry took furious steps towards his best friend; green eyes filled with grief and panic and determination. "It happened, Hermione. The enchantments have been broken."

Completely infuriated by the sudden presence of Saint Potter, his sidekick, and the Weaslette in the background by automatic response, Malfoy narrowed his borrowed-eyes at the Chosen One. "What are you on about? What enchantments?"

"The one's from the castle!" Potter shouted at his brunette friend. "Remember I told you ages ago about the Death Eaters trying to strip the castle from its own magic from the Ministry? Well they've done it! They broke the charms!"

"They're going to attack the school," Ron interjected before any silence could follow Harry's shouts. "McGonagall felt the wards from inside break. It's only a matter of time before the Death Eaters try and break the ones she and the Aurors and the other teachers have around the school."

"The war's coming," Parvati breathed, lowering herself onto her bed and looking at her friends with a horrified expression. "We're going to fight, aren't we?"

As the She-Weasel nodded solemnly at the older Gryffindor girl, Draco kicked Granger's legs and pushed himself off the mattress. Hurriedly, without thinking it, without really listening to whatever it was that Potter and Weasley were babbling about in the back, Malfoy pulled open the drawer of Granger's nightstand.

Pulling out her wand, he pointed it at the small, golden coin trapped inside.

_Room of Requirement, now! _

**X**

She'd been sitting around the Slytherin Common Room with Daphne, both studying for an exam that Flitwick had scheduled for the following day when she felt the pocket of Malfoy's trousers burn. She'd found it odd at that moment, especially since Malfoy had always refused to use the enchanted galleons she created for them to communicate.

And reading the message with the clear urgency it had, she had taken off without an explanation and with Daphne shaking her head at who she thought was her friend with complete disapproval for breaking curfew.

"_Malfoy_," Hermione huffed, crossing her borrowed-arms as she watched the boy possessing her body pacing up and down impatiently. "Could you just tell me what the matter is? I'm breaking curfew here. And I doubt the Slytherins would be all that forgiving if I get them a deduction of points. I know how proud you all are."

The Slytherin within the Gryffindor said nothing; he just continued to pace as everything inside of his mind started mixing together. There was Potter's warning, the clear fact that the war was not that far from approaching, that he was still stuck inside Granger's body, and then there was that nudge that wouldn't leave him alone.

He was going mad here, and he hadn't the foggiest on how to clear it up. He needed one direction, one way and he had to go from there. Why the _hell_ were all these thoughts messing with him? He obviously had chosen a path months ago, why wouldn't his mind let him retrieve it?

"There's something I never mentioned, Granger," he finally spoke, turning on her heels to face her. "The first day of our body-swap, Potter had heard from the Order that the castle had a magic of its own protecting it—"

"Yeah, that's why the Four Founders chose this place," Hermione interjected, nodding slowly. "The castle is rumored to have belonged to Merlin at some point of his life. He'd settled here because there was a force of magic on the ground that was pure and protecting. It's all in _Hogwarts: A History_."

Malfoy rolled his borrowed-eyes. "Anyway," he snapped, "the source of the magic of the castle can be monitored from the Ministry. The Order had received intelligence that someone from inside the Ministry working for the Dark Lord was trying to find a way to strip the magic." He took a long breath, letting it fill Granger's lungs. "They did it. They broke the charms protecting the castle. Potter and McGonagall say it's only a matter of time before they decide to attack."

Hermione's mind had been processing everything she knew about the Hogwarts castle in her mind, going through every bit of information so she could know what to expect before Malfoy told her the news, but she hadn't assumed this. Not so early, anyway.

She took a deep breath, trying to relax the tingle of panic crawling up Malfoy's spine before it affected her. "Okay," she whispered, taking a few steps towards the Slytherin, "so we need to prepare. We need to brush up on our Defensive Spells, and you need to talk to Harry about what he knows. After that, you and I can prepare to formulate our own plan."

"I'm not fighting," Draco said straightforwardly, halting the girl before she came up with the entire operation. "Not with your side, that is."

Hermione raised a blonde-brow that wasn't hers. "What'd you mean, Malfoy? You have to. This isn't a voluntary thing. You're going to have to fight." She took in another deep inhale and shook her borrowed-head, gathering her thoughts. "We're going to have to tell Harry and Ron about our problem. If we don't, you'll get stuck with them and I secluded somewhere else. We need to fight this together."

"That's not going to happen, Granger," Malfoy retorted, narrowing brown eyes at his own face. He felt a tingle of frustration race up Granger's fingertips. He knew she was trying to help, but there really wasn't a way out of this. "Do you honestly think for a second that Potter or Weasley would want to help me, even if I am stuck in your body?"

Hermione frowned at Malfoy. "Look, as much as you and Harry and Ron hate each other, the three of you are going to have to put it behind you because there's a war coming our way. This is _not_ the time to hold grudges."

"I'm not on your side, Granger!" The Slytherin hissed, taking a heated step towards her. "I don't need their help!"

"Of course you do! You can't expect to survive this otherwise," she retorted back. "_I'm_ going to help you, Malfoy. That's why we're friends, isn't it? I'm not going to let—"

"We're not friends, Granger." Why couldn't she see that? Why couldn't she see that he was not going to be by her side, even if a little piece of him wanted to? It's not like Potter and his loyal admirers were going to welcome him with arms wide open. "We can't be. Not after everything that's happened."

She felt a knot form in her throat, her head screaming at him that that was not true. Hadn't they made progress this past month? Hadn't they enjoyed their time together, even if they wouldn't admit it aloud? They had come so far because of their mishap, for Merlin's sake. "That doesn't matter now, Malfoy. I'm not leaving you on your own. Harry and Ron will understand that."

"For fuck sakes, _listen_!" He shouted at her, reaching forward and clutching onto her like if he was still in his body; frustration leaking out like running water from the tap. "Nothing's going to change, Granger! Nothing! Your friends will never allow you to stick up for someone like me! They'll make you choose, war or not!"

That was the first time right there, right as her own hands were digging their nails into her, that Hermione had ever felt physical pain inside Malfoy's body. She felt tears blurring out his eyes, blurring her view of her own infuriated face. "They won't. It's perfectly simple—"

"It's not!" Draco hissed. "I'm always going to be Draco Malfoy: the ferret, the bully, the arrogant asshole, the ignorant pureblood, the Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy's son, the one who almost killed Dumbledore, and the person who watched Hermione Granger get tortured and did nothing to help!" He dug her nails deeper into his arms, anger overflowing him with poison.

"Do you know what you'll be?" He continued, not pausing as he could see his eye drop a single tear. "You'll be Hermione Granger: Brightest Witch of the Age, Potter's best friend, eventual war hero, always kind and damned to try and see the best in people. Everyone is always going to wonder why, Granger. They're always going to reject me."

Hermione shook his head, her own stubbornness radiating out of him. "I don't believe that, Malfoy," her tone was low and firm. "You're not that to me. Not anymore at least."

Finally, he released her hands from his arms; taking a step back from his own body. "That doesn't matter, Granger. At the end of the day you love them more than anything else in the world. At the end of the day, your loyalty is unquestionably with _them_. Who are you if not part of them?"

"I'm Hermione Granger," she snapped at him, narrowing his silver eyes. "I'm not easily influenced or manipulated by others. Yes, I love them, and yes, I'll always be with them, but I'm allowed a life apart from them. I'm allowed to choose who I li—"

At her sudden pause, at her hesitation to say something that's been looming over them, something they hadn't dared to accept individually yet, Draco let out a humorless chuckle; a shake of the head accompanying it. "We can never be anyone else but the Pureblood and the Muggle-born," he flashed her brown eyes to her. "We can never be friends. We will never get a chance to be anything _more_."

Those damned tears blurred her vision again. "Why not?" She didn't know why she said it, but she needed to. She had owned that right, hadn't she? "I thought you were seeing reason, Malfoy. I thought that after walking in my shoes, seeing what Harry and the rest of us are fighting for, that you figured out what was right. Don't take that back, Malfoy. Just don't."

"What about my parents?" He replied, completely disregarding her and her obvious hurt. "I'm not going to stand by Potter's side, no matter how right or wrong it is, and watch them die. You got a chance to save your parents, Granger, and I want the same; even if that means dying along with them or stepping over everybody else."

With all the strength and courage she had glittering in her soul, Hermione managed to stop her tears. "Go back then," she had replaced her clear hurt with clear rage and disappointment. "Go back to your parents; go back to your Death Eaters, Malfoy. And I hope that every person along the way that you kill for them haunts you for the rest of your life."

He watched her go, watched her leave in his own body, and that little nudge inside his mind became perfectly clear and it had also developed into another fact. He might have seen her leave as himself, but he knew that watching her walk away was something that would haunt him more.

She had been his chance for redemption, and he let her go.


	17. Fight For Somebody

**This Is War**

**Chapter Sixteen: **Fight For Somebody**  
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She doesn't know why it's getting to her so much. She should've expected as much from the beginning, right? It's not exactly like he's a dimensional person. He didn't have layers; all that was true about him was what was on the surface. He was nothing but cold.

_'Chocolate, really?' She laughed a little too loudly for her liking. 'Out of all things, your mother banned chocolate from you?'_

_ He rolled his borrowed-eyes, fingering the corner of a page from his Charms textbook. 'Malfoys aren't fat,' he said to her, sounding like he was scolding in a very parental manner; the way they'd done to him she figured. 'And they don't lapse into a sugar-coma after twenty-eight Chocolate Frogs and faint during their etiquette lesson.'_

_ She laughed some more, picturing a little toddler Draco Malfoy collapsed on an armchair, face covered in melted chocolate and his belly sticking out from his expensive robes. 'That's honestly priceless. But I suppose I can relate. Mum and Dad forbade me from eating sweets. They're bad for your teeth and all that.'_

_ 'And you had plenty of teeth, Granger,' it was his turn to laugh. _

_ She nudged him with her borrowed-elbow, rolling his silver eyes at him. And even as she did so, even as she muttered a 'whatever, Ferret' underneath her breath, the situation had not turned hostile. It was like two friends picking on each other. It was harmless._

He was always going to be the same, wasn't he? He was always going to be that narcissistic, ignorant, and racist boy that she met when she was eleven. He was full of lies. He was a master of them, capable of cocooning himself into a giant bubble of them; telling the world it wasn't there and they were seeing things.

He hadn't changed at all.

_ '…Do you ever have nightmares about it?' He mumbled to her, refusing to meet her eyes like he'd been doing since he confessed something he'd been ashamed to admit. 'About that night with Bellatrix?'_

_ 'Bit of a rubbish question, isn't it?' She smiled, her borrowed-head still resting on her own shoulder. She could feel her curls acting like a fluffy pillow, the smell of strawberries in the brown strands. _

_ He let out a humorless chuckle. 'Yeah, I suppose it is.'_

_After a moment of silence, as she let that smile on Malfoy's face die, she sighed through his lips. '….It affects me more than I let on,' she finally spoke, admitting to something she didn't want to or hadn't told anyone. 'It makes me physically ill sometimes. I go into this panic…like there's not enough air in the room or the walls are closing in on me. It overwhelms me. It's like my body shuts off…Like it remembers the torture and it's still tired from it.'_

_She swallowed a knot that had begun to form in Malfoy's throat from her own memories. 'I'm exhausted,' she confessed, feeling the truth press into her mind, 'but there's no time to be. I'm not the only one, but I've got to keep going.'_

_ Releasing her lips from the tight line he'd pressed them into, Draco let out a silent sigh of his own. 'Why do this, Granger? Why fight for Potter? You could've stayed in the Muggle world. You could've been safer there than you could ever be here.'_

_'Because I love him,' she said immediately, not oblivious to the way Malfoy made her shoulders tense. 'He's my best friend and I love him. I'd go to the end of the world for him,' and she hadn't hesitated one bit to say that. She pushed herself off of Malfoy, looking straight at him as he hesitantly looked up too. 'And I'm not afraid, Malfoy. I'm not going to hide.'_

_'That's foolish of you,' he told her, creasing her forehead. 'They wouldn't be hunting you down if you just left the Wizarding World.'_

_She made his face frown. 'I'm not afraid,' she repeated. 'I'm a witch, Malfoy, and I _belong_ here. I don't care that there's masses of wizards and witches trying to kill me. I'm still a witch. Mudblood or not, I have as much magic in my blood as all of them.'_

_He pressed her lips into a tight line again, making her brown eyes zero in on the silver ones she was controlling. He watched her carefully, looking deep in his eyes to find her there. And after a moment that neither said anything, he let out another sigh and shrugged. 'Yeah, Granger, you're right. You have as much magic as they do and you use it better.'_

_ She released the air she didn't realize she was holding. She had been waiting for him to retaliate, to tell her once again, like all those years ago, that she was not rightfully a witch, but it never came. There was this light in his borrowed-eyes that almost looked like acceptance; like he _believed_ what he said. _

_He was changing, she could see it. Little by little he was seeing the fight for her side; he was seeing that there was no difference in a Muggle-Born and in a Pureblood. Magic was magic. _

_'So, did I tell you Pansy Parkinson snogged me?' She muttered to him casually, trying to ease the tension. She leaned against his borrowed-shoulder again. 'She's going to have a fit when she knows it's been me all along.' He laughed at that._

Maybe it's the fact that she was taken as a fool that's bothering her. Maybe it honestly has nothing to do with the Malfoy of it all. She is Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of the Age—how was it possible to be okay with being stupid and naive? She believed him; believed in that part of her heart that always told her that there was light in every single soul.

So he was going to fight for his side, _fine_. Who cared, anyway? Certainly not her, that's for sure. He was just another Death Eater; one of the many she'd been fighting for years now. This was going to be nothing new. She had known for ages that Draco Malfoy was on Voldemort's side, that wasn't going to change because he was stuck in her body, was it? She'd been prepared to fight him ever since he first called her a Mudblood their Second Year.

Nothing had changed.

"For fuck sakes, mate, are you still moping?" Without realizing that someone had opened the door to the lonely dormitory she was hiding in, Hermione blinked her borrowed-eyes towards the entrance and found a pair of emerald ones narrowing at her.

"You've been this way for two days now," Blaise continued disapprovingly. "I'm the one who's a bloody orphan, stop being dramatic."

Hermione inhaled through Malfoy's nostrils, telling herself that she needed to muster all of Malfoy's rubbish characteristics and use them. But after a moment, after trying to come up with something foul or angry to retort back to the dark-skinned Slytherin, she exhaled with resignation. She felt no fight left.

Blaise raised an eyebrow at his blonde friend. "Alright," he said dismissively, sounding a little confused. "If I didn't know any better, Drake, I'd say you were having witch problems."

Hermione let out another frustrated sigh.

"It can't be Pansy, you've been brushing her off since the term began," Zabini commented mainly to himself as the blonde Slytherin slouched on his four-poster and refused to meet his eyes. "The only girl I've seen you with is—Oi! Don't tell me you fancy Daphne?"

Captured inside Malfoy's pale body, Hermione snorted loudly at that.

"Yeah, I didn't think so," the other Slytherin continued. "Daphne is my ex-girlfriend. You wouldn't cross that line. Well, you _would_, but certainly not with everything that's going on this year."

To herself, Hermione rolled her borrowed-eyes. Not only was Malfoy an arrogant prat who was determined to be a foul Death Eater, but he was also a horrible friend and a slag.

"It's Granger, isn't it?" As soon as Blaise let it slip from his mouth, he watched as his friend shot back up into a sitting-position on his bed. His eyes were wild, confused, and scared—all flashes of emotions that the Slytherin Prince would never let the world see.

Clearing her borrowed-throat as Zabini knitted his brows in a quizzical manner, Hermione asked, "what does Granger have anything to do with this?"

The Gryffindor Princess had _everything_ to do with it, Blaise knew that perfectly well. But how was he supposed to sum it all up and bring it out into points? He didn't want Draco to know he'd been watching both of them carefully lately.

"Nothing really," he shrugged, choosing to brush off the Granger-subject. "Just wanted to see how you'd react. But, anyway, Malfoy, tell me what the hell's wrong?"

Releasing Malfoy's lungs from their puffs of oxygen, Hermione hesitantly gathered her words. She couldn't really pass anything over these damn observant Slytherins, could she? It was honestly a surprise none of them had marched up towards who possessed their darling ferret's body, pointed a finger and identified her as the Mudblood.

"I was told that there was a breech in the castle's security," she whispered, looking up at him with blank eyes. "The Dark Lord's minions in the Ministry managed to break certain charms that kept Hogwarts impenetrable without the teachers and Aurors' help. The war's coming to us any day now."

Zabini forgot all about his dark curiosity, his body tensing. "When?"

"I don't know," she told him, sighing again. "My guesses are soon. I don't think You-Know-Who's going to give too much time for the professors to allow them to prepare or to let Harry escape. They're coming, and they're coming soon."

With his broad shoulders squared off still, Blaise hesitantly moved his right hand to clutch his left forearm; right where his dark mark was located.

Noticing this, Hermione felt sympathy pool inside Malfoy's chest. "You're afraid to fight?" She asked him with a low tone.

"They're going to use us as pawns, aren't they?" Zabini ignored his friend's question with another. "It's the reason why they've been training most of us since last summer. They intend to make us the distraction; to take the first blows."

"Yes," Hermione responded. She wouldn't doubt that the older Death Eaters would use the younger recruits to distract the professors and students. They would let them receive the first attacks from the Light Side; let them be captured as they planned a way to get in and skillfully kill anyone in their path.

Clearing her borrowed-throat again, Malfoy's last words to her reappearing in her mind, she proceeded to ask Blaise something that she should've kept to herself before risking getting caught in the scheme of things. "Are you ready to fight our classmates?" She looked at him, no trace of a Malfoy-mask on the face she wore. "Are you ready to fight Parvati?"

Blaise dropped his right hand from his dark mark, expression bewildered. "What—_Patil_? What does the Gryffindor have anything to do with this?"

Hermione smiled dimly. "I know, Blaise," she said sincerely to him. "You can see it in Parvati's face. She stares at you like you're this incredible person, like she can't believe you're there. Granted, it's not always that she stares, but I've caught her."

"I don't—"

"It explains why Nott has been a complete git to her all year," she continued, ignoring the fact that the dark-skinned Slytherin wanted to pull one over her. She'd been lied to by one Slytherin; she wasn't going to let another one get away with it. "It took me a while to connect the dots, but I did. You're in love."

Zabini frowned, hiding his surprise in that mask of blankness he was so fond of. "Are you going to give me shit too?" He retaliated. "Are you going to be like Theo and tell me how I'm wasting my time on a Blood Traitor?"

The girl possessing Malfoy's body scoffed in a very boyish manner. "Theodore doesn't hate her, you know?" And, oh, how everything was connecting itself now. "He just wants you to stay away because being with Parvati isn't safe. And, honestly, Blaise, I thought the same way. Nott just wants his friends to survive this war."

"By killing others," Blaise retorted. "Yes, Malfoy, I'm aware how Nott wants to scrape by this bloody war."

"And you don't intend to?" Hermione asked quickly. "What are you prepared to do once the Death Eaters penetrate the walls of Hogwarts, Zabini? Are you going to trample through everything that Parvati stands for, just to please the Dark Lord? Are you going to kill all those she loves if it comes down to it?"

Malfoy's eyes were filling with tears without her noticing it. She could feel all her emotions bubble in his chest, pulling on his heartstrings and making it hurt. She was angry, hurt, and betrayed.

"I'm going to fight," Blaise said, "but for and with her. I've got nothing left on the Dark Lord's side anymore. They killed my only reason for staying loyal with them."

There was a knot caught in Malfoy's throat; a knot filled with Hermione's emotions. "…You would've fought with him if your mother was still alive? You'd leave Parvati behind?"

The dark-skinned Slytherin stayed silent for a few moments, contemplating his answer. It was more than the obvious. His instincts were to turn right, but his emotions would tell him to go left. "I wouldn't want to. I'd hate myself forever if I'd let Parvati behind, but family is family. We were taught family duty from the beginning, Draco; you know that."

There was another moment of silence but Blaise quickly killed it before Hermione's incredulous anger could flare out. "I'd find a way to get back to her, to Parvati," he continued with a pensive tone. "Maybe I'd be too late then, but I would've come back."

"What would you do now?" Hermione asked, swallowing her emotions.

"My mother's gone," Blaise was clutching on to his mask, not wanting his grief to come back out. "Parvati is all I have left, Draco…I'm going to fight with her."

Inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, Hermione couldn't control the flare up of her emotions from crossing throughout Malfoy's facial expression or entire body. Her borrowed-hands shook, her borrowed-chest tightened, and her borrowed-eyes leaked two single teardrops.

It bothered her that Malfoy had chosen to fight with the Death Eaters because he was leaving _her_ behind. She'd wanted him to fight with her. Her heart was broken because she'd wanted him to stay.

**X**

He was staring into the flames. He watched them crackle red, crackle yellow, crackle orange, and then repeat the cycle all over again. He watched the flames intently, seeing shapes and patterns in the burning wood like one would see in clouds on a sunny day.

_'Honestly, Malfoy, you'd be my parents' fantasy come to life,' Granger had chortled, making his cheeks red as she did; pulling back the Licorice Wand she'd offered him and he'd refused politely. _

_ He raised one of her brows at her, bemused. 'Is that so?'_

_ 'Oh, get your head out of the gutter,' she elbowed him in his borrowed-ribs, making sure to be gentle because she was aware how easily bruised her body was. 'I meant, you're dedication on not eating any type of sweets is outstanding. I swore Parkinson almost tackled the Sugar Quill out of my hand as soon as I was going to eat it.'_

_Draco smirked. 'Yes, Granger. I'm sure your parents would be completely enthralled with me simply because I floss more than normal people.'_

_ 'You'd be surprised, Malfoy,' she smiled at him, looking up from the revision she was giving the Potions homework he was going to submit as hers the next day. 'But, actually, I think they'd like you in general. Sure, you wouldn't have much to talk about, but you're alike my dad. You're both made up of a hard shell, but inside…you're all marshmallow.'_

_Looking away from an essay the Bookworm was making him double-check, Malfoy stared at her skeptically. 'You'd let me meet your parents?'_

_ 'Technically you already met them, remember?' She was referring to the time she stormed his body into her home when she Obliviated them; he could see the sparkle of sadness in her borrowed-eyes. 'But, yes. Why not? You deserve a proper meeting.'_

_ He watched her blink back down to her Potions homework, letting her comment ring in the air like it was casual and she was talking to another friend. Draco couldn't possibly comprehend why she would suggest something like that, but he couldn't also understand that shot of contentment he felt when she said it. _

_ Her parents were her all, he knew that. She went the mile to make sure they were protected from the war, and she trusted _him_ enough to let him close to them. It was like she was offering on olive-branch; like she wanted him to cross the prejudice-bridge and she'd be helping; waiting on the other side of it with a smile._

The fire was crackling yellow, crackling orange, crackling red, and he let out a frustrated sigh. He thought he'd left the Know-It-All's dormitory because that infuriating Brown girl was blubbering about Thomas again, but now he knew he was lying to himself.

He'd marched straight out of the dormitory, tossing and stomping on the ruby-red sheets and the pillows that smelled like something sweet and florally because he couldn't escape Granger. He had wanted to gather his thoughts, to lie in that bloody bed and just think, but of course the Bookworm snuck up on him.

Blinking, growing angry, he glared at the flames once more.

_'Why did you do it?' Finding that he couldn't concentrate on the book the Gryffindor had given him to uselessly check for anything that could help with their body-swap, Draco narrowed her brown eyes at his own face. _

_She didn't look up from her scan of information. 'Why did I do what?' She asked nonchalantly, turning another page as her eyes took in all the words printed there. _

_ 'Why did you ask the werewolf and Dora to help protect Zabini and the Greengrasses?' He told her, quite impatiently too. 'They're part of the opposite side of yours. Why would you ask them to keep _them_ safe? Shouldn't you be using those resources to help protect innocent people?'_

_ 'Did you just call Tonks Dora?'_

_Malfoy frowned, sending vibes of anger towards the girl possessing his body. He hadn't known that he'd referred to his cousin as something else than the Blood Traitor or the Werewolf's Bride, but he didn't find it amusing that Granger had picked it up and decided to throw it back at him._

_'Right,' Granger had cleared her borrowed-throat, trying to dodge his sudden annoyance. 'Well, to answer your question, Malfoy, I'm trying to protect them because they are innocent. Daphne and her family have gone neutral after the brutal murder of Mrs. Greengrass. They're as much as walking-targets for Death Eaters as the people on my side.'_

_Draco snorted. When the Greengrass family had defected from the Dark Lord's side he hadn't thought of them as Blood Traitors at all. He'd kept silent because he knew that at any given chance, were any of the three Malfoys attacked, they'd go neutral and go into hiding too. But that didn't really erase the fact that they'd done wrong, did it? If Daphne's mother hadn't been murdered she and Astoria would've ended up right in the spot the rest of the Death Eater Juniors were in. And Mister Greengrass was much a Death Eater as the Malfoy men; he'd committed despicable acts too. _

_'And Blaise, well, he didn't have a choice over his induction as a Death Eater, did he? He accepted out of force. He didn't want to be a part of this, and you know it, Malfoy. Why else would you have asked me to keep an eye out for him?'_

_'To make sure that he didn't pick fights with the bloody Gryffindors and that he did his homework,' he retaliated, not exactly sure why he'd felt more anger. 'I didn't ask you to protect him from the war, Granger, but your noble heart went ahead and did that anyway.'_

_ Finally looking away from the blasted book she'd been reading, Granger stared at Draco with soft, silver eyes. There was no cruel expression tugging on the skin of his face, there was just that understanding, gentle look that always annoyed him that the Bookworm would sport. It was like she was evaluating him, trying to find something that was hidden_.

_'Everyone deserves a second chance, Malfoy,' she whispered after a minute of silence. 'We're at war. Death is roaming outside that bubble of protection around the castle. If there's a single chance that someone can turn from fighting for death, destruction, and dominance….well, I'd say they deserve the chance to take it.' _

_A smile tugged at the corner of her borrowed-mouth, and once again she did something that made the assumption that Draco Malfoy was her friend. She reached for his borrowed-hand, taking it and squeezing. 'Not everyone is completely bad, Malfoy. They have a good side to them too. Some people just don't have any chance to act on it.'_

_The way that she caringly held on to him, the way she made his grey eyes illuminate with warmth, Draco had the sudden nudge of an idea that she was mostly talking about him. It was like she was letting him know as indirectly as possible that she believed in him; that she believed_ _strongly in his dire conquest for redemption_.

_ Leaning against the back of the couch he and the Gryffindor were seated on in the Room of Requirement, Draco slowly pulled the hand back as the skin he was wearing started tingling with electricity. 'So, Granger,' he cleared his borrowed-throat, 'got any sweets?'_

Letting out a single frustrated sigh, letting it echo throughout the Gryffindor Common Room, Draco didn't become aware of the two pairs of eyes looking at him intently from the entrance of the room as he wallowed in his frustration.

To assume that the two Gryffindors observing 'Hermione Granger' were completely clueless, like they were easily fooled, was something most people would agree on, but it was completely wrong. They had these almost built-in sensors that allowed them to know when there was more than what let on. And Hermione Granger had a lot more going on than her I'm-alright-just-tired excuse she'd been using for ages now, and they knew it.

Her personality had been lacking for weeks, something that was not hard to be missed by those who knew her, but for the last two days it was like a hurricane was thundering inside her chest. There were dark emotions in her eyes, venom in her words, and coldness on her skin.

"…I'll handle this," putting a soft hand on her companion's arm, Ginny Weasley whispered lightly. "You go ahead and talk to McGonagall."

Clutching his Invisibility Cloak tighter between his fingers, Harry narrowed a suspicious glance at the back of the unruly brown curls that belonged to his best friend. And without saying anything, the Chosen One turned on his heels and headed for the portrait-hole as his redheaded ex-girlfriend walked towards the fireplace of the common room.

Slowly, sneakily, like how'd she practiced when she snuck up on her mother to playfully scare her, or how she'd sneak out of her brothers' rooms after she'd gone in to steal something after they'd refused to play with her, Ginny took small steps towards the only other person in the common room.

She had known that Hermione had been unapproachable for the past two days, like You-Know-Who had possessed that brilliant head of hers, but Ginny could see all the defenses down. The walls that the older girl had been fighting with tooth, nail, and blood to keep up were broken down as she thought she was alone with her thoughts.

"If all the Weasleys wouldn't come after me in a stampede," immediately as he'd sensed the presence of someone else, Draco turned with a glower on Granger's face towards the intruder, "I'd murder you in an instant. Never sneak up on anyone when there's a war going on, Weasley. It'll be the last thing you do."

In all her playful persona, Ginny rolled her eyes at the brunette. "As fun as the conversation of my would-be murder would be, I rather go into your foul attitude lately, 'Mione."

Draco continued to glower at the She-Weasel. "Care to piss off?" He retaliated; not bothering to sweet-talk anything for the redheaded weasel. He didn't have time, or the bloody patience, to act as the perfectly perfect Granger. "I don't need you nosing about my business."

"No, I will not," Ginny said stubbornly, taking a seat on the armchair beside Hermione's. "Look, Hermione, we're worried about you, okay? I know there's a lot of pressure on your shoulders—for Merlin's sake, there's _been_ a lot of pressure on your shoulders since you were eleven, but keeping that all bottled up inside is going to make you explode.

"I know that you think you're supposed to keep Harry and Ron sane, Hermione, but you need to be doing that for yourself." She continued, all in one fiery breath. "Ever since you were tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange you've—"

"_Don't_!" Malfoy used Granger's mouth to snarl threateningly at the redheaded girl. He didn't need the reminder. He didn't want the flashback to come as a nightmare when he went to bed later. He didn't want to know how Granger's loved ones felt or thought about the torture. If he heard it, if he knew, it was going to cut him up more inside. "Just shut up and go away."

Bringing her legs to tuck them underneath her as she adjusted herself on the armchair, Ginny stared nonchalantly at who she thought was Hermione. She was unmoved; not feeling worried or scared by the flashes of unstableness the other girl had written on her face.

"There's a lot that you do for everyone else," Ginny continued. "What about doing something for yourself, Hermione? I know that we're at war and everything, but there has to be something that could bring you great happiness. Perhaps not something at this very moment, but after the war's over. You can't just carry everyone else's worries."

"And what would _you_ do, Weasley?" Draco snapped back; long forgetting his role as the Friend-of-all-Creatures Granger. "Instead of sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, why don't you find something bloody productive to do instead? Go on the hunt for a goblin's gold, or pull Potter's wand out of his ass and fight to get him back!"

Carefully placing her hands on her lap, Ginny kept her face as neutral as she could as Hermione huffed for air; her chest going in, out, in while her cheeks burned red from her overwhelming frustration.

Ginny was often thrown to the side for the Golden Trio, not so visible when those three were around, but she didn't complain. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were who they were—and that was a shining force to be reckon with when they were together. Individually they were flawed and smooth, but Ginny was a lot shiner on her own. She had her fiery attitude, her brains, her charm, her beauty. She was a true Gryffindor to the extent of the word. And she also was one hell of a friend, and a girl with acute feminine senses.

She saw a lot of things that people overlooked: a prolong stare, a perfect disguise of a blush, a secret smile, and even the gestures that tried to be passed as indifferent. She knew her share of secrets from watching things others overlooked. And what's been going on with Hermione Granger for the past month was on that list.

"I am," Ginny was the first one to speak. "I am fighting to get him back. I've been fighting for Harry since the day of Dumbledore's funeral."

Draco tensed, making Granger's shoulders stiff and her small palms clutch. He didn't say anything; he just continued to feel the anger and frustration take over Granger's body.

"Everything is against us being together, even Harry himself. There are masses of people coming after him, a price on his head to be handed to You-Know-Who. He has the pressure of another massive group to take down the opposite side; all while having his own demons to battle. There's so much guilt in him, Hermione; you know that. He sees blood on his hands for the people that have died since the war began, like if _he_ was the one who did them in."

As the older girl continued to sit there, frown on her face, heaving in and out, Ginny continued. "He thinks he's protecting me from all of this bloodshed, but I'm equally marked for death like everyone else. I'm a Blood Traitor. I can die the very second that I step onto a public street, but Harry thinks that by holding my hand is what will cause my death."

Draco continued to keep his mouth shut as he narrowed Granger's eyes at the She-Weasel. It wasn't like she was that far off. The attack on Diagon Alley could've caused her death if Blaise hadn't chickened out from his commands and fled.

"But one thing's for certain," the redhead pulled on a smile, "I'll keep fighting for and with Harry until I'm no longer alive. I'll be right there, right beside him, fighting the world who wants him dead."

Without exactly knowing how to stop it, Draco let slip, "what if he's not worth it?" His borrowed-face was still in a scowl, but Granger's voice had come out with full curiosity.

Ginny continued to keep her smile, her brown eyes flashing with an all-knowing emotion for a second. "If you love someone, they're always worth it."

"But _how_ do you know?" He asked more agitated. "How do you fight for someone?"

"It takes bravery to follow someone to the end of the world without knowing what lies at the edge," Ginny said. "But it'll be one hell of an adventure, that's for sure." The frown on her friend's softened a few centimeters, and the redhead went in for the plunge. "And you _know_, Hermione. You know what love is."

Draco crossed his borrowed-arms over Granger's chest. "I don't."

Ginny rolled her eyes again. "You do," she insisted. "I've seen it in your eyes for the past month. I've seen it eating you up inside, driving you crazy. All you need is the push, Hermione, but love is there."

At the finger that the Weaslette pointed at his borrowed-heart, Malfoy didn't know why he felt a combination of tingles, warmth, possessiveness, and anger. "It's not your brother," he spat disgustingly, not caring to be polite about it.

Standing up from the armchair, stretching a little, Ginny glanced back at her friend with gentleness on her face. "I know."

Malfoy's walls almost crumbled in shock.

"Find your bravery, you silly girl," she added in, "and let love in." And with another casual smile, Ginny waved a tiny goodbye and headed for the girls' dormitories; leaving the girl alone with her thoughts again.

She knew there was struggle, that's why Hermione had been miserable and so angered. It wasn't easy, this love business during war and bloodshed. But everyone needed a moment of light; everyone needed somebody else. It was going to be difficult, but when had Hermione not accepted a problem without solving it? She'd seen her eyes linger, her confusion and tension bubbling in higher degrees inside of her—and Draco Malfoy had returned them all.

It wasn't the ideal match that one would want for someone as compassionate and noble as Hermione, but maybe she'd already solved most of the problem. Maybe she had already seen Malfoy deprived of his arrogance, blood prejudice, and defense mechanism and she liked what she found. (After all, they'd been working too closely for the last couple of months on that Potions project. And when had Hermione not been able to entice someone with her brilliance and heart when given the chance?)

Once he was completely alone in the Gryffindor Common Room, Draco stared back into the flames of the fireplace; trying to find patterns in them as his thoughts drifted away again.

He understood why he was so infuriated now—a great part of him wanted to go to the end of the world with Granger; fighting with and for her.


	18. Separated By War

**This Is War**

**Chapter Seventeen: **Separated By War**  
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Here it goes, another day.

Merlin, what's wrong with her? What's with that sinking feeling that wants to push her down to the ground and make her decay there?

"...is all I'm saying. I mean, yeah, we had a very brief relationship, but he needs to let that go. _I _did. He just can't assume that he's at liberty to sneak into my dormitory whenever he damn pleases."

Hearing Pansy Parkinson's voice enter through her eardrums, causing the beginning pulsing-feeling of a headache coming on, Hermione knew that there were _too _many things that were wrong with her. As she looked down at the marble floor, she saw long trousers and fine shoes rather than her stockings and small feet. She was wearing Slytherin robes with the smell of cool mint that wouldn't go away, and she was heading to the Great Hall with two Slytherins rather than Ron and Harry.

And, Merlin forbid, she forgets the fact that she's only coexisting with the snakes without any insults and duels is because she happens to be in the Slytherin Prince's body and they haven't the foggiest that it's her.

"You need to set him straight," Pansy continued. "Show him how a proper man needs to behave after a break-up."

"And how exactly can I help with that?" Rolling his eyes, Blaise Zabini gave the dark-haired witch an annoyed look. "Theo does whatever he pleases, Pansy. And that includes you."

At the tactless pun, the dark-haired girl frowned. "Look, I'm about one shove from murdering him, Blaise. If you want your friend to live for a few more years, I suggest you tell him to back off. You were never like this when you broke things off with Daphne."

"What happened between Daphne and I was different, Parkinson," Blaise snapped, now completely out of patience. "And maybe, _Pans_, if you quit going along with Nott's advances, he'd stop. You don't exactly seem reluctant to leave him behind when you kick the girls out of the room so you and Nott can have a few moments alone."

The Slytherin witch snorted, but said nothing.

"Seems to me that you might be in love with Theo."

And as Parkinson's face twisted up in uncontrollable outrage and disgust, Hermione remembered something else that was wrong with her. It was matters of the heart; feelings that it should've not been feeling at all.

But even as she started shaking her borrowed-head, trying to make her brain stop from formulating the thoughts that have had her moping about the castle and the Slytherin dungeons, her problematic issues collided into her full speed as soon as Zabini, Parkinson, and she turned the corner of the corridor and saw a lone figure resting against the entrance wall of the Great Hall.

Someone was waiting for her.

Her borrowed-body felt like it was drenched in iced water. Malfoy's shoulders stiffened, his chest tightened, his heart slowed down, and then she felt like the capacity to speak left his throat as a knot formed and took residence there.

Clearly not having the same problem as she was, the lonely witch waiting in the corridor pushed herself from the wall she was leaning against and took two careful and calculated steps towards the three Slytherins. Her face was masked in absolutely nothing, but there was a glow to her brown eyes that could be identified as desperation.

"Malfoy," Hermione Granger had spoken in a low tone. "We need to talk."

Narrowing her eyes as the Mudblood Queen spoke to her friend in an almost ordering tone, Pansy sneered at her. "Draco doesn't talk to the likes of you, Granger," her voice was filled with distaste. "Now move out of the way before we make you."

Hermione Granger's eyes lost their previously undefined look to appear angered. "I—He talks to whoever he fucking pleases, Parkinson," the usually goody-good Bookworm snapped back. "Just because you trail after him like a lost puppy without an owner, and you do anything he says, doesn't mean he does the same for you."

"Listen, you annoying little Mudblood—"

"Let it go, Parkinson," interrupting his housemate, Blaise pulled down the wand the girl had foolishly taken out and directed at Granger. "Now, let's go inside before you humiliate yourself. You know perfectly well that Granger can turn you into a tea-cozy with just a blink of an don't stand a chance in a duel with her."

With a curious glance, the Gryffindor's eyes watched as Zabini aimed an interesting smirk at her direction before dragging Pansy into the Great Hall to join the staff and students for the dinner they were late to. There had been a twinkle in his eye, like he knew something that he wasn't letting on but caused him great amusement.

Feeling that little twinge of happiness because Blaise had indirectly stuck up for her, almost like if there was a hope for a friendship there once she returned to her body, Hermione felt all the frozen rigidness return back to her as the dark-skinned Slytherin disappeared and she was left alone with the person currently possessing her body.

Hating the fact that the blonde ferret could make her feel completely disoriented, thrown off from all her sensible feelings and on-point thoughts, Hermione took in a deep inhale through her borrowed-nostrils. She collected her Gryffindor courage, and pulled on the best mask she'd learned to mold from her time as a Slytherin.

"If you're just going to stand there, Malfoy, and ruin my appetite, then I suppose I should leave before I hurl up the bit I had for breakfast," even though she kept her tone neutral, her fingertips started tingling. She'd been steering clear from the Ferret because of this; because of this overwhelming emotions that stabbed at her.

Malfoy used his remembrance of no-emotion to mask Granger's face again. "I'm sure you're dying to go to the library, Granger, but we really need to talk."

Hermione frowned. "We really don't have anything to say to each other," her heart hurt as she said it. "Unless it's about how you're going to drag my body down to fight with the Death Eaters. Or, are you giving me a heads-up on how and when you're going to give up Harry's position in the castle?"

Holding Granger's tongue, Malfoy tightened her lips into a tight line. He refused to say anything for a few seconds, feeling that bubbling sense of anger starting to tickle his blood. He was waiting for Granger for a reason, and it wasn't to lash out at her and send all their progress down the loo.

"You are, aren't you?" She snorted; continuing to talk without getting the hint that Draco was doing all that Don't-Say-Anything-At-All-If-You-Don't-Have-Anything-Nice-To-Say rubbish she was always preaching about. (For Salazar's sake, it seemed like being in his body for this long had been affecting her judgement of things.) "Honestly, I don't know if you have a conscience or you're here to ask for something selfish."

Draco took a deep breath, deciding it was important to talk now before she ruined it and made him explode in a rage that could be deadly for both of them. "Granger—"

"Please don't, Malfoy," Hermione interrupted, a loud sigh passing her borrowed-mouth.

"Granger—"

"I thought that we had something," she mumbled, that knot in Malfoy's throat hardening; making her ache from the inside, deep where her soul was. "I guess...I guess I was wrong." She laughed, shaking that head of white-blonde hair that didn't belong to her. "God, I was so stupid. I...I just thought that _maybe _you'd seen reason...that you saw me as something else than that annoying Mudblood. But you didn't, did you? It's alright, I suppose. You can laugh at me, because I admit that was the most—"

"Stop talking!" Taking his turn to interrupt her now, Draco took heated steps towards the girl possessing his body. And with her tiny and fragile hands he gripped his pale ones, applying pressure like if he assumed that her body had developed extra strength from the previous night.

Hermione was startled, her pathetic rant halting itself as her own eyes—eyes that he controlled, eyes that he lived behind—were staring at her with too much intensity. She'd been feeling betrayed, hurt, angered, hatred towards Malfoy, but with that look she forgot it all.

Turning the corner of the corridor, quietly and undetected as always, Aphrodite Venus stumbled upon the body-swapped students. The scene she walked into looked exactly the same from her distance; the same it had when she first cursed them so they'd walk in each others' shoes. But instead of there being complete anger, instead of there being complete hatred that was borderline from becoming a violent mess, there was something pure filling the air.

Even though they weren't in their rightful bodies, the boy and girl stared at each other with emotions that were too much for them to contain. It was emotions that neither had ever felt before; that looked odd sparkling in their eyes. It was strong, intense, needy, and completely wrapped in fear.

This was the moment that was going to define everything, and Aphrodite Venus knew that. And the one with the power to make it or break it was Draco Malfoy.

With a steady breath he didn't know he needed, Malfoy didn't let go of Hermione's borrowed-hands. "I do see you differently," he said thickly. "I...I think I lo—"

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Loud blasts of glass shot around, coming from inside of the Great Hall that silenced whatever Draco had to say. Both Gryffindor and Slytherin looked at each other, something digging at their skin. But it was as soon as they heard an ear-splitting scream that they moved their feet and headed fast into the Great Hall once there was clattering of dishes and silverware. Panic was bursting out from the room, and most eyes were on Parvati Patil shrieking her lungs out; the rest hiding underneath tables from the glass that had flown in their direction.

The teachers had risen from their seats, McGonagall looking especially worried towards the Gryffindor student; all while the other teachers inspected for a threat.

As Parvati fell from her seat, palms pressed against her ears as she continued to scream and the Great Hall dimmed dramatically, Harry Potter was not the only one headed straight for her. Blaise had launched himself away from his seat at the Slytherin table, shaking off Nott's hold as his dark face filled with deep concern.

But right before anything could happen, right before Harry could reach his housemate, a voice slithered its way into everyone's ears. It clawed its way in, scraping and making them all feel violated and vulnerable.

"_Give me Harry Potter..._"

**X**

It all had happened so fast. One moment he was staring at Granger, looking deep into the reflection she was making his eyes glitter with, ready to say something he'd discovered deep within him, when all that sped up and rushed by him. He remembered hearing glass break, Patil scream, the fear gripping everyone as the Dark Lord's voice penetrated every single mind that was in the Great Hall, and even the disastrous mess that Pansy had caused by initiating for someone to grab Potter and send him straight to the Dark Lord.

He had been glued to his borrowed feet, seeing as Slytherin House was being sent away; the Great Hall clearing from its younger students and only keeping those who were willing and wanted to fight. There were so many things tugging him back and forth that he didn't even realize when he'd lost sight of his own body and when Potter and the Weasel had gripped both of his borrowed-hands and started taking off with him.

"_Stupefy_!"

Being shoved into a wall, Weasley covering Granger's tiny body with his lanky one, Draco could only hear Potter shout a hex as the castle was raging on with loud noises that had signaled the very war they'd been anticipating.

"We need to find the Horcrux!" The Boy Who Lived shouted, rushing off full speed as Ron pulled Hermione along. "I was talking to Luna and—"

"We're at bloody war, Harry!" Ron interrupted, his hand still clutching tightly onto Hermione's as they tried pushing through the masses of students. "Do you really think now is the time to listen to what _Luna _has to say? She's mental!"

With eyes completely wide, heart beating like it was about to burst out of Granger's chest by his own distressed emotions, Draco fell to the ground as giant spiders launched themselves towards their direction. He fell on his borrowed-knees, marble and plaster digging into the skin and cutting it; even through the uniform he'd made Granger's body wear for the school-day hours ago.

He was about to cower to a corner, his mind completely frazzled at everything, but Potter had saved the moment once again with a jet of light shooting out his wand and stunning the engorged spiders that were seconds away from tearing off their heads.

Boom! Boom!

More of the castle was blasted from its structure, sending dangerous shreds towards whoever was around them. There was so much screaming; some for help, some of rage, and a lot of bravery.

"I've got to trust her, Ron," Potter was shouting through the noise, leading the way again as they sprinted through main halls of Hogwarts. "This diadem of Ravenclaw has to be the Horcrux we're looking for! It has to! Nothing else fits!"

Screams, jets of light; it all took over Draco's senses as he tried to keep Granger's lungs full of oxygen as Potter and Weasley had him running at top speed. As he did so, he couldn't help but to let a piece of his distressed mind compliment and praise his Gryffindor Bookworm for keeping up with her git friends. She'd have to have had an excellent capacity to endure all this frustration and adrenaline after fighting with Potter for so long. She honestly was a warrior; handling situations that would make anyone else seem weak and useless.

Dodging another aimed hex at their direction, Ron shoved his two friends to a corner and tried to buy a moment of secrecy. "Fine," he snapped at his best friend hurriedly. "Go and do what you need to. Now's not the time to doubt Luna, you're right. Hermione and I will go get the Basilisk fangs we've stored in one of the upper broomstick closets. We're going to need a way of destroying the Horcrux, right?"

Malfoy was shaking his borrowed-head, making Granger's features scowl dangerously as the two Gryffindor idiots were calling the shots of whatever suicide-mission they had planned. He was not about to go anywhere with the Weasel. He needed to run, to get out of the castle and find his parents...

He needed to find _Granger_.

He needed to escape these two gits and go and find the girl possessing his body. He had decided that he wanted to fight for her, that he wanted to fight right beside her. But what the hell was the purpose of that desire if she was off somewhere; suffering the degree that it was to be him? What if she got hurt? He wasn't going to keep his silent vow to do the right thing if Granger was not around. He had no intention in aiding Potter if he couldn't have the Gryffindor Princess with him.

"Here's the map. Use it to find me," shoving an old parchment towards the Weasel, Draco watched angrily as Scarhead turned to him. Potter gripped both of his borrowed-shoulders, squeezing tightly. "Find your bravery," he said in a harsh whisper, a tone that should've been sweeter and encouraging when directed to his best friend. "I know it's there."

Through Granger's brown eyes, Draco let a flash of curiosity, shock, and questioning appear for a quick second as Potter's hold on 'Granger' was rough and frustrated. The Chosen One was staring at his alleged friend like he was angry, like he was ordering rather than trying to comfort.

But before he could even get to say anything to Potter, Weasley had ripped him away from the secluded wall and making him move fast down another corridor as they emerged into the battle; hexes and glass flying in all directions.

For a split second, Malfoy turned his borrowed-head to look over Granger's shoulder. He saw Potter staring after them; and with a firm gaze, the Boy Who Lived headed for a staircase on his own.

**X**

Oh God, it was much worse than what she could've thought of. She had assumed that all the adventures with Harry and Ron, the fight at the Ministry, the battle at Hogwarts the night Dumbledore was killed, what her and her friends had experienced during their search for the first Horcruxes, or even getting tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange was horrible—but this took the title of horrifying experiences. How she was going to be able to live with herself after this, she didn't know.

Things had moved so fast from the point that she had heard Parvati scream. McGonagall was shouting, students were rushing out the doors of the Great Hall, and she could spot Harry and Ron rush towards where she was standing—but they hadn't grabbed her hands. They had taken Malfoy with them; Malfoy who was possessing _her _body and pretending to be the missing one-third of the Golden Trio. And as Ron had gripped the hand of who he thought was his friend, Harry had tossed 'Malfoy' a look that was almost saddened, worried, and brave. But before she could figure out what that exactly meant, the figures of Harry, Ron and Hermione were off.

She'd had a good mind to go right after them, to reveal everything and assist Harry and Ron, to even help save Malfoy—or to plead with him to stay and not join the Death Eaters attacking the castle—but she had remembered something important. As she had stood there, watching people flee, people aiming spells, the professors shouting instructions, familiar faces from the Order start to appear, Hermione knew that her time posing as the Slytherin Prince had had a purpose in the end.

She had vowed to protect the innocent within the Slytherin House.

She had taken off in full speed, shouting shielding charms to whoever she could in the process; her borrowed-eyes scanning the castle's corridors and halls for those Slytherins who didn't want to be there. Sure, they had families on the other side of the battle, they had their bigoted views of the world, but that didn't mean they needed to die. They were children; they all were.

It had taken her a few minutes to find them, after she had dodged several bundles of walls and other things with a flick of her wand and her experience of escaping these mishaps in her adventures with Harry and Ron. She had spotted Blaise, Parkinson, Nott, and Daphne among the throng of Slytherins like her focus had been a magnet and they were metal.

"_Expulso_!" Whipping out Malfoy's wand and pointing it directly to the cellar that the Slytherins were locked into, Hermione made the bars explode.

"Draco!" Pansy had sighed with great relief, her black eyes shining with tears as the blonde Slytherin had come to the rescue.

Ignoring Parkinson, Hermione reached for Millicent Bulstrode and Gregory Goyle before any of the students could bolt out of their confinement and a giant unorganized, mess occurred because of it. She gripped both of their wrists with the unbelievable strength Malfoy had in his body; making them look at her with intense fear as she stared at them dead in the eye. "Unseal one of the passages out of Hogwarts," she hissed at them. "You grab all the younger students that you can find, no matter what house they are in, and those who don't want to stay and fight and you get them out! Understood?"

Millicent was about to say something, but Goyle stopped her in her tracks. He pulled his meaty arm away from who he thought was Malfoy, a serious look upon his face. "Don't get killed, Malfoy," he said to his old friend.

A little surprised by the almost soft voice that belonged to one of Malfoy's croonies, Hermione nodded her borrowed-head and moved to the side; allowing Bulstrode and Goyle to exit out with the rest of the Slytherins who were in desperate need to get out and flee.

Looking at those who remained, staring a little longer at Blaise specifically, Hermione took off running again. Now that she'd freed those who she needed to, she needed to find Harry, Ron and Malfoy. She needed to get to them; to assist them. She needed to help and end this once and for all.

At the top speed she had always been required to run with during the dangerous outings with Harry, Hermione dodged more spells and plasters of bricks and glass. She could hear footsteps right behind her, but she didn't turn to see that it was those Slytherins she had been forced to befriend as her time during Draco Malfoy.

Boom! Boom!

She could hear them shooting off spells, screaming with complete fear and confusion. Most of them hadn't a clue where they were going, who they were fighting, or what they were going to do to survive all of this. They were mixed in now. If they attacked anyone inside the castle, anyone that they had called a classmate or a professor, chances were they were going to die before they could runaway. But how were they supposed to do the right thing and not get hexed to their deaths by the Death Eaters and other dark creatures bombarding the castle?

It really was the survival of the fittest now.

"Astoria!"

Hermione had whipped her borrowed-head right on time as Daphne's shout had penetrated her hearing and taken over the shouts, screams, and spells flying everywhere. She watched with a horrified expression as the youngest Greengrass sister was trying to battle off a Dementor that had snuck its way in. The blonde girl was failing greatly, wasting all her strength as she couldn't come up with anything to get rid of the creature trying to suck out her soul. Though she really didn't know a single thing about Astoria Greengrass, Hermione imagined that the girl _had _horrors and despairs that could feed of the Dementor that was attempting to devour her soul. Her mother's murder one of them.

Daphne had fled from the group of her housemates, her dark eyes zeroed in on her sister and at the creature by a destroyed part of the courtyard now. She had dodged a hex that wasn't meant for her, crossing a duel that was against a member of the Light Side and one of the Dark. But with nothing to defend herself either, Daphne had launched herself over Astoria's almost unconscious body; acting like a shield.

Blaise, Pansy, and Theodore watched horrified. Two of their housemates, both Greengrass sisters were dying just a few yards away and they couldn't stop it. They didn't know how. Nothing could get rid of the Dementor but a powerful charm that they hadn't mastered; that they hadn't known because they weren't required to by their Death Eater families.

But as soon as Hermione decided to send her acting to hell and save the girls she'd vowed to protect, someone else had shouted the charm that was needed.

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

A giant, glowing pitbull pushed by Hermione in its run. It growled menacingly, barking towards the Dementor and made it flee hurriedly towards the night sky; saving Astoria and Daphne as they wiggled weakly against the littered floor.

Not having to turn and see who it was, Hermione was still very surprised as she saw Dean Thomas make his Patronus disappear as he headed straight for the two blonde Slytherin girls. "I'll get them," he shouted back at the people watching him curiously. "I'll lead them to safety!"

"Blaise! Blaise!"

Once again, not having to turn, this time not surprised but completely overwhelmed by all her senses going off, Malfoy's heart beating so rapidly with adrenaline that was all hers, Parvati appeared full-speed. She was quick to wrap her arms around Zabini, gripping him tightly as she shed thick tears of relief.

Squeezing her back with the same intensity, almost like he didn't see anyone else but the dark-skinned Gryffindor girl hugging him like her life depended on it, Blaise inhaled her essence. He whispered something, something that really couldn't be heard, but by the way his bright eyes shone, it was not hard to guess that it was sweet nothingness of reassurance and comfort.

Looking torn between being completely aghast and disgusted at Patil and Blaise, Pansy chose to let that one go as she turned to face her housemates and the Gryffindor Muggle-Born.. "I'll take Astoria," she said in a rough tone, approaching the other shocking scene ahead of her. "But you take us straight to somewhere safe, Thomas," she added in a half-fearful half-ordering tone. "I'm not about to die here."

Telling Parkinson to cast a Shielding Charm over her and Astoria Greengrass in a hurry, Dean turned and called for Parvati; interrupting the moment between the two unknown lovers. "Find the others," he told her in a struggling voice. "Find Seamus, Lavender, Neville, Luna and the others. Fight with them, Parv. And...incase I don't come back..."

"Stop," Parvati snapped at her friend, pulling herself away from Blaise a little. "You come straight back, alright, Dean? We're not the D.A without you. Come back." And with a flicker of her dark eyes, she inspected the protecting and gentle hold her housemate had on the Slytherin witch in his arms. "If not for us, then for _her_."

Swallowing a knot of concern and vulnerable emotions, Hermione watched with a broken heart as Dean, Daphne, Parkinson and the other Greengrass girl headed away; strong enchantments on them as they tried to re-enter the castle. She wanted to believe that she was going to see them again, Dean and Daphne, but with everything that the war was bringing at that exact moment, she couldn't help but to feel a tiny shred of her faith die.

"Are you not going?" Zabini's voice entered Hermione's borrowed-eardrums. "Follow after them, Nott. Try and save yourself for another day."

Nott's blank mask slipped off for a few seconds. His expression filled with disappointment, rage, and defeat. "Well, they left us here, didn't they?" He scoffed, touching a hand to his left arm where Hermione knew for a fact that the dark mark was not on. "Mind as well fight with my best mate and his...girlfriend than to die on my own. It's all the same isn't it?"

Zabini's dark complexion was indifferent but his bright eyes gleamed with something. "No, it's not," he replied. "You're choosing the right side now, Theo."

"Yeah, well...I'm not as evil as people assume," and with a quick leer at Malfoy's direction, Theodore Nott twirled his wand in between his fingers and nudged his head towards the direction of the ongoing battle.

And right as they were about to run, Parvati screamed, "Look! There goes Harry, Ron and Hermione!"

Not having to wait to hear the suggestion to follow the great Golden Trio, Hermione dragged Malfoy's feet to start running. She had taken off with incredible speed once more, inhaling deep with her borrowed-nostrils; shooting off spells and protecting herself against anything coming her way.

She could see them, her two best friends and her Slytherin Prince dodging the stomps of a giant. She could see Harry's almost look of relief, like he'd found something he had been looking for and destroyed it. Ron was determined, one hand stuffing a Basilisk fang that wasn't missed by her in the distance. Malfoy was running just as fast as his two sworn enemies, but his eyes were distracted. He was scouting for something, blinking wildly at any figure that passed them by; whether student or Death Eater.

Right as Hermione knew that he was looking for his parents _and _her, she almost stopped dead in her tracks as Malfoy's distraction caused him not to see the Death Eater that had pointed his wand at him. The jet of light that the man shot out of his wand wrapped Malfoy entirely, making him fly back and hit a brick wall as Harry and Ron screamed bloody murder at the attacker.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Whew!<strong>

**I'm a little late with this, right? As always, I'm sure. Lol.  
><strong>

**Anyway, I hope that all of you liked this and go with the flow on how I'm writing the battle. I wanted to go straight by the book, even mixing in a bit of the movie in there, but it really conflicts with what I have planned later. So...Enjoy? R&R?  
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**(:  
><strong>


	19. When A Curse Breaks

**This Is War**

**Chapter Eighteen: **When A Curse Breaks**  
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"Let me through!"

She was beyond angry; seething didn't even cover it. She didn't know she was ever capable of feeling that much rage, but, oh, she felt it. It had sunk into her, passing through every level of skin she was wearing until it pierced the blood flow and then the cells. It had attached to every delicate tissue, to every tensed muscle, and to every bone.

"Let me through!"

It was like venom had rewritten every consequent thought she ever had. It was like that burning venom had oozed its way to her mind, killing all the logical explanations that could've caused that fury to subdue itself and allowed her to return to her usual self. It just latched itself to every part of her; not letting her emotions to go back down from the level of murderous she was in.

She was ready to hex someone into the deepest point of obliteration.

"Oi, relax." Having had enough of the shouting, Blaise marched his way towards the glowering figure of his blonde friend. He gripped one of his shoulders, turning him around so he could meet deadly dangerous silver eyes. "Shouting like a lunatic will only get you locked in a broomstick closet. People don't want to hear you."

She would've agreed, she would've absolutely understood that the war had come into an intermission and people were gathering their dead, that there were a lot more conflicting things about to come up, but she just couldn't find that emotion that would make her agree.

"I don't care," she hissed back at Blaise, shoving him backwards with strength that she gave her borrowed-body with her bubbling fury.

The dark-skinned boy frowned, but his bright eyes glittered with something that looked like triumph as Parvati settled him; taking a hand into hers. The Gryffindor girl stared at both boys with questioning eyes, the gossiper in her completely curious at the behavior coming from Draco Malfoy.

And knowing his girlfriend too well, Blaise squeezed her hand to distract her before she said something that would ruin the amusing moment. Hopefully he would have enough time after this mental ordeal to explain everything to her. But for now, he flashed his eyes back at the blonde looking ready to pop and start a war of his own.

"So you two are friends now?" Zabini threw back at the pacing figure.

Hermione turned on her borrowed-heels, narrowing those eyes that weren't hers into dangerous slits. She was somewhat fond of Zabini, she really was, but she _would _hex him until no tomorrow if he didn't shut up. "Fuck off," she spat; part of her completely appalled that she said something so vulgar to someone she considered a friend.

Blaise leered like a true Slytherin, making Parvati frown at him for such an expression. It reminded her of the times when Blaise, Nott, Malfoy, and the other Slytherin gits would be viciously cruel towards her, her friends, and other innocents. "Just get over it," Blaise spoke once more, not aware of the disapproving look on his girlfriend's face as he talked to his housemate. "We should go and find Theo and Daphne. They're our friends, Malfoy. Granger doesn't matter."

Hermione clutched the fingers around Malfoy's wand tightly; that venom that was making her twitch with fury was telling her to send a curse to Zabini and silence him.

"Besides, they're not going to let you in," Blaise went on. "They would never let a Death Eater like you into somewhere where all those innocent people are in. Especially nowhere near the Brightest Witch of the Age."

That boiling fury burned a level hotter. She knew that she wasn't in her own body, that she certainly was ready to start a battle while inside Draco Malfoy's, but if the situation was reversed and she really was the one on the opposite side of the barricading walls and doors, she would have been equally as enraged still. Who in Merlin's name did they think they were trying to keep Malfoy from her? They had absolutely no right, and they most certainly didn't dictate who she got to see and who she didn't..

Hissing so uncharacteristically for her, Hermione turned away from the Slytherin and Parvati, pointing that wand between her fingers to the door of the Hospital Wing that she was being kept from. "_Expulso_!" She shouted, causing the doors not to explode but to just ripple a horrendous knocking sound that could've torn the doors apart if she had wanted to.

No longer amused, Zabini looked outraged. "Are you out of your mind?" He growled, pulling the blonde's wand back down. "They're going to do us in! We're Death Eaters, remember?"

Before Hermione could even respond to that, right as Parvati flinched and then looked annoyed that her Slytherin would accuse himself of such despicable act that he had no control over, the doors of the Hospital Wing opened. Two people appeared; two people that would've made Hermione jump with joy if she wasn't so pissed.

"Let me in," she snarled at the two boys staring at her, using all of Malfoy's impatience that lingered in his body and blood.

Looking completely battered and exhausted, Harry Potter raised a brow at the face of his childhood enemy. He looked at those silver eyes, completely angered and ready to explode with an emotion that he knew was something like a passion mixed with desperation. He'd seen that look before, the desperation and worry that was so common on one of his friend's face; but never laced with passion.

He would've snorted, chuckled a little at that, at the irony of it all at a time like this, but the redheaded boy next to him was not seeing the same thing he was.

"Get lost, Malfoy," Ron hissed, drawing his wand and pointing it menacingly at the blonde. "I don't know what you think you're playing at, but you stay the hell away from us!"

"Lower your wand, Weasel. Draco means no harm," Zabini approached his fellow Slytherin loyally, frowning disapprovingly at the ginger sidekick.

Ron scoffed loudly at that. "When the hell have any of you lot not meant any harm? You best get out of here, the two of you. Go run and hide for a while, because once all this is over, we are dragging both of you to Azkaban. Life sentences for both of you Death Eaters."

Parvati Patil looked at her housemate with complete shock and an anger of her own. "Blaise is no Death Eater, Ron!"

"Show me his left arm and tell me he's not!" Ron snapped back at his Gryffindor friend. "Honestly, Parv, you're off your rocker. What are you doing sticking to Zabini's side? Lavender is in there––_your best friend_––and she's dead! Doesn't that matter? His kind killed her!"

The dark-skinned Gryffindor stumbled back a step, her dark eyes open wide. Her expression looked like if someone had just smacked her; all while her body felt like it submerged itself in a tub full of ice. Her heart had stopped beating for a single second; right before it crashed and fell to the deepest pit of her chest.

As the atmosphere in the outside hallway of the Hospital Wing tensed itself, clouding with emotions and unsaid things, making people stiffen, Ron Weasley dropped his frown and hatred completely as he noticed what he'd done. Parvati hadn't known Lavender was dead; she hadn't seen her best friend's body that laid mutilated by Greyback on a ragged hospital bed.

"...You idiot, Ronald," Hermione breathed, a borrowed-hand over her borrowed-chest as Blaise gathered a struck Parvati into his arms.

Ron blinked, his ears catching the scolding and disappointed tone that was so familiar on Hermione's voice, but that had recently escaped Malfoy's mouth. Confusion pooled into him, feeling almost frozen as well.

Catching that too, Harry looked at Malfoy's silver eyes. The deadly anger in them had erased and was now replaced with tears of grief; tears that were directed to the loss of Lavender Brown so selflessly and unlike the Slytherin. "Go inside," he murmured to the blonde.

"Harry, you can't––"

"You have to go to the Great Hall, Ron. You need to find your family and I need to find what these memories are about," Harry pulled out a little tube with silvery essence inside of it after he interrupted his best friend. "I'll explain everything after."

His blue eyes were protesting, looking outraged, but Ron couldn't find his voice suddenly as he glanced at Parvati again and he felt guilt swell up in his stomach. He nodded unwillingly at his best friend and proceeded to walk away from the Hospital Wing.

"Harry," but before they could completely leave, Hermione had used her borrowed-voice to call for her best friend. The Boy Who Lived turned for a moment, and emerald eyes met silver. "I...erm...We're all going to keep fighting. You stay in this castle, okay?"

At the tears that slipped down his enemy's cheeks, Harry smiled carefully; almost like he was looking at a beloved rather than the Slytherin Prince.

As Harry and Ron walked away without nothing else said or exchanged, Hermione left Parvati and Zabini alone as she went through the doors of the Hospital Wing; her borrowed-heart pounding.

Everything that once was the prestigious-looking Hospital Wing––with its carefully polished marble walls, carefully shiny floors, beds completely made and tucked in every corner if there wasn't a patient in it, the air smelling like an actual hospital, clean and cold––was completely gone and shattered. The walls of the Hospital Wing were barely sticking together, the floor was dusty from rubble that had been knocked down, the beds held unmoving people that were never going to see the light of day, and the air smelled like dust, blood, and grief.

Finding all the strength she could muster, Hermione kept her eyes glued on the closest bed and her feet moving. She couldn't find it in her borrowed-heart to stare at the people on the other beds; she couldn't stop and mourn for all those poor souls and not break down. They were still at war, she couldn't risk that, could she? She needed her strength and wits.

Her borrowed-eyes found what she was looking for, herself. Her body was laying on the bed, hands pressed on her chest, entire persona covered in dirt and cuts, blood and knots. Her eyes were closed, her face a little pale––it looked like she was dead.

But just as she had thought that, those eyes of hers that she's been months without opened. They blinked gently for a couple of seconds, her mouth sucking in a soft puff of air. Hermione couldn't help but to smile, relief washing over an internal system that wasn't hers.

"Malfoy," she whispered. "How are you feeling?"

Inhaling a little more oxygen, Malfoy pulled Granger's body shakily into a sitting position; his head spinning a little. "Like I was thrown against a wall," he muttered back to her roughly, wincing a little as he felt her spine stiff and sore. "I could've died."

Hermione's smile disappeared as she looked at the boy possessing her body. "Oh," she cleared her throat, trying to find a blank mask to pull on. Of course he was worried about dying; he didn't want to be on her side of the battle. "Well...I'm sorry I've caused you too much trouble."

"Yeah, you have, Granger," Draco told her, crossing his borrowed-arms. "Do you know how long I've been searching for you? Again, what the hell was the point of creating those enchanted galleons if you're not going to carry them?"

"You...You were looking for me?" _Don't get excited, Hermione. He probably just wanted to take you to his mother so she could undo whatever curse was placed on both of you. He doesn't want anything to do with you._

Malfoy gave her a look like she was an idiot. "I figured I could've found you sooner, but that bloody Weasel is so damn grabby," he told her, his tone disapproving. He was going to have to tell her that she needed to get rid of the Weasel King after all this was done; he didn't want that ginger thinking he was at liberty to be hanging about _his _Bookworm. Best friends or not with him, Granger was going to have to cut her affections with that idiot.

"Oh...Well, you're going to have to stay here, Malfoy," Hermione spoke in a murmur again, not understanding the meaning of what Draco was trying to say. "I'm going to go back and fight with Ron and Harry, but you'll be safe here. After that...after whatever happens, we'll just go our separate ways."

Once again, Draco was staring at the Gryffindor like she was an absolute idiot and she was just mumbling incoherent things. He knew she assumed he wanted to save his own skin––well hers, in a way––and that was completely true a few months ago, but not now. Aside from saving himself, he wanted her to survive with him. He had been looking for her because he wanted to fight with her; that was the only way he was going to join the battle for Potter.

She had changed him without him even noticing it. She had taken a hold of the things he hadn't wanted anyone to know he felt, that he thought. He was a coward, yes, but he was also someone who'd been threatened to not rebel and to follow orders to insure his own life and his parents'. That had made him some kind of brave, hadn't it? He was protecting the ones he loved.

And not only had she began to make him realize that there was light in him, but she also changed his view on a lot of things. Had he not been forced to go to her Muggle home, with her Muggle parents, and walk the same streets as the Muggles of London, he would've never seen that they were a different kind of life compared to his. And just because he didn't understand them, that didn't make them less. And not to mention he got a full blast smack of a reality check when he was also forced to spend time with Boy Wonder and all of his army; making him realize the fight, loss, and pain they had to constantly face. (Not that he ever was going to admit that bit to anyone.)

But that's what Granger did, right? She challenged you. She was all sorts of warm, noble, and extraordinary feelings. She had fragile-looking hands, hair that smelled like strawberry and sunshine, brown eyes that had gold flecks in them, and a smile that was truest thing he'd ever seen on anyone.

And he wanted all of it.

"We're not going our separate ways," he finally spoke after a moment of silence, taking one of his borrowed-hands and grabbing one of his own. "That's what I was trying to tell you outside of the Great Hall, Granger. I want to fight with you."

Hermione raised a pale eyebrow that belonged to the Slytherin Prince. "...What?"

He smirked at her. She was the Brightest Witch of the Age, but, oh, how naive she was when it came to matters that cannot be learned in a book. "I don't have fluffy words to give you, Granger," he began, trying to find some courage to speak without looking nervous and sounding like a complete dunce, "because that isn't me. I can't bring you down the stars and the moon...but I can only just tell you that you've changed me."

He squeezed her hand, making her blink wildly; looking almost like she wasn't sure all the words he was saying were actually being said.

"I can't say that everything that I was before doesn't matter, because it does, but all I'm completely sure is that what I feel for you _now _is all I'm ever going to recognize from this point on." He swallowed, summoning more courage as he looked her deep in the eyes. "...I love you, Granger."

Ever since that confrontation between her and Malfoy, where he'd told her that he was going to fight with the Death Eaters, where he'd told her that they were never going to be friends or anything else that she hadn't realized she wanted, her heart had been broken. She had wanted him to stay, to fight with her, to feel that unexplainable feeling that was filling her up––she had wanted _all _of him.

She hadn't a clue how that came to be, but some part of her was truly grateful it had. Malfoy had gone from being her tormentor to someone who was the only shred of sanity and hope she had left. Life and Fate hadn't been nice to her when they cursed her into walking in Malfoy's shoes, but they had done it for a reason. She realized that now. She had been given challenges, and he'd been one. He made her feel something that she never really had: a perfect mixture of anger, determination, affection, and a deep need.

She desperately needed _him_.

Taking in a much needed breath, Hermione pulled on her Gryffindor bravery and she squeezed Malfoy's borrowed-hand back. She felt tears coming out to play, making his silver eyes glisten a little, and a smile accompanied it.

Their eyes locked, silver and brown, and from that moment forward, neither of them knew who had been the first to lean in. Their foreheads touched gently, and almost like the moment needed it, they closed a gap that would've never been closed if they hadn't lived what they lived through. Their lips touched, soft and careful, but then Draco put all he had inside of him into it. The passion and need had exploded like fireworks.

After what was thirty seconds, right as Malfoy had tried to grip her closer, a golden light started wrapping around them. Their eyes widened; a painful throbbing sent them both screaming away from each other as it pounded in their heads. They were withering, one on the dirty floor and the other on the tousled hospital bed. They were clutching on to their heads, the throbbing impossible to bare––but then the gold light disappeared and the pain had stopped.

Panting, hearts thumping like they had just ran for their lives, Draco and Hermione carefully sat up from where they were; their eyes meeting each others.

"D-Draco?"

Malfoy shot his eyes open––Granger was looking at him; speaking to him with her soft and gentle voice, from the hospital bed. He blinked down, and he brought a hand up to inspect it. The hand was pale, with long fingers, and the Malfoy family ring on one of them.

He was in his own body.

"What happened?" Hermione muttered to herself, inspecting her own hands the same way Malfoy had been doing to his.

But with her question being left unanswered, Draco grinned happily at the Bookworm as he rose up on his feet. She had been looking away from him, and he pounced like the slimy Slytherin he was thrilled to be once again. He took her into his strong arms, clutching her tightly with an instant surge of energy he hadn't felt in so long.

"We need to find out what––"

"Do shut up, Granger," Draco interrupted the Gryffindor, his very own lips on hers again. He tasted it all, that fruity flavor that had to be impossible to exist in her mouth. And, honestly, he didn't want to ever let that go.

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><p><strong>AN: Completely shorter than any other of the chapters, but I was having difficulty adding what I wanted to add to this chapter. For the time being, however, I feel like it was right to end this chapter here. Next chapter shall be a little more...detailed lol.<strong>

**I hope you like this, it's been long overdue for the romance! (:**


	20. Things Found in War

**This Is War**

**Chapter Nineteen: **Things Found in War

He had been off in a corner of the Great Hall, his nose clogged willingly when things really did change forever. To have said that the grand room was destroyed was an understatement; it had been a bloody disaster. Everything around him was torn down, windows shattered, rubble, plaster of marble, and bricks piled in the corners. But what had been most haunting, what had thrown him off as soon as he'd marched in was the intense smell of death and dirt that loomed in the atmosphere of the Great Hall.

There were bodies everywhere; all mostly dead and a very scary few being attended to their wounds. A lot of people laid on the floor where the House tables had once sat, all of them looking up at the enchanted ceiling that showed nothing magical; not that they could see it anyway.

And when he had walked into the room, taking the slowest steps of his life when he'd seen a gathered group of redheads looking down at the floor where one of the Weasley twins laid with death—after he'd sucked his possessiveness in and let Granger go to them willingly—he had felt something crash in his chest. He had been scouting around, trying to find a familiar face that wasn't about to shout bloody murder at him when he saw the bodies of Nymphadora and her werewolf husband laying together; their eyes seeing nothing too.

He hadn't known what to feel in that moment, how to describe it, but it had caused a falling feeling in his chest. It had hurt. He had accidentally spotted his disinherited cousin lying on that messy floor, her face sliced and cut, wounds of battle, and her pink hair had died down to a brown. He hadn't known much about her, only what he'd gotten to experience during his body-swap with Granger, but he knew her death was a loss to the world. She had been bubbly and fierce, loyal and caring; she had been his family.

When he had realized that, when he had accepted the fact that the dead woman next to his ex Professor was his cousin, _his blood_, he had stumbled back a few steps, feeling like he'd just been punched in the face, but he had been caught quickly by a friend. Blaise had been sitting in a darkened corner with the Patil girl, clearly trying not to make himself noticed by all the Death Eater haters while trying to be there for his Gryffindor lover. Patil had been watching nothing like those dead bodies all around, but she had blinked with complete sadness and loss that Draco knew it had forced Zabini to leave her alone in her grief for a few moments.

The two Slytherins had sat next to each other, not minding the wounds they'd collected during the battle priorly—well, the wounds Granger had caused his handsome body after she had ran amuck with it—and they were both twined with eerie silence. From the first moment he had walked into the Great Hall he had felt the sickness of it all, the crimes committed by that group of people that he had once supported and now detested, but nothing had made him feel more disgusted and despicable than the moment that everyone had left the crumbled-down Great Hall to go to the courtyards.

There had been a loud scream, and Draco had made his way through the crowd; leaving Blaise behind as he went to see what the commotion was about.

'_Harry Potter is dead!'_

More screams had pierced the chilling air, and he had felt his heart drop and his blood run cold as he recognized one of those as Granger's.

In that moment, as every loyal supporter of the Boy Wonder shrieked their complete denial, he had felt hope die inside of him. He had felt like all his chances of redeeming himself had died along with Potter.

He had swallowed, completely still and not really paying attention to much as he stood in the crowd of the Light Side. Potter was dead—what the hell was he supposed to do now? How was he supposed to be with Granger? How was he supposed to fight beside her if the battle had already ceased? What would become of them now, of her?

'_Draco—'_

He had been startled out of his pondering mind. He had looked up, and he had found the piercing blue eyes of his mother looking at him; her voice calling him to join her. He knew he'd always been a proper git to the world, but he did have a heart and he'd used most of it to love his mother. Seeing her, he couldn't have helped the feeling of absolute longing for her, of nostalgia. He had missed her.

Without taking a moment to think about what he should contemplate on doing next, he let his feet move and drag him over back to the Dark Side. He had heard a choked sob coming from Potter's loyal admirers, and he'd known who it had belonged to, but he didn't take the liberty to look back. He had just wanted his mother in that moment.

His mother had held onto his hand the moment he went to stand next to her, and she had squeezed his fingers with so much might he had to wonder where the hell she had gotten all that strength from. He had squeezed back too, and then the voice of Longbottom had entered his eardrums and things had become hectic.

Potter had jumped off the arms of that oaf Hagrid, like the proper Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die, and Draco hadn't known what possessed him to act at that moment. He had glanced at his mother, at his father even, but he had also known that he wanted someone on the Light Side. And the minute that Potter had given indication that he was alive and that there was still a chance for him to get back to a certain Gryffindor Bookworm, Draco had made the quick choice to toss his wand towards his childhood nemesis and run towards the girl he wanted.

The war had raged on the millisecond after.

"Brought you some things." Malfoy was swept away from the memories of the final battle that had taken place not three hours ago as a brunette girl entered through the beaten and worn down door of a destroyed classroom.

He didn't say anything to her as a response, he just watched her reach him and kneel beside his seat on the bench. She settled a few bottles that she was juggling on the floor next to her tucked legs, her hands reaching for his and turning them over on his lap so they were facing up towards the battered and blasted ceiling. She grabbed the smallest bottle and pulled out the dropper; then she squeezed out three little drops to either one of his hands and placed the dropper back inside the bottle. Not being quite done with her work, she turned back to his hands and rubbed the Essence of Dittany into his torn skin and its scrapes with her fingers; gently pressing and massaging with her fingertips.

He watched her fragile-looking hands for a moment, looking at the fact that they had their own share of cuts and gashes. But she didn't care, did she? She forgot completely about her wounds and grabbed another bottle.

She rolled the sleeves of his torn shirt, exposing gashes running along his arms that he hadn't known he had. She grabbed the new bottle she had picked up, pouring some of its contents onto her fingertips and ran them along his skin. She massaged the thick and yellow Murtlap Essence on him, the stinging of his wounds already soothing by her ministrations.

Lifting herself a few inches higher into the air, still on her knees, Draco watched the brunette stretch her fingertips towards his face. Gently, like she had been treating his cuts, she dabbed the Murtlap Essence on various spots on his face. They were so caressing, her fingers, and her face looked fully concentrated, showing that she was making sure she did every precise dab with care.

Taking in a deep inhale, his mind rushing with the memories of a few hours ago, he grabbed her outstretched arms; halting her healing on him.

Her eyes widened a little, confusion pooling into her brown eyes as the blonde boy narrowed his grey ones at her. She raised a brow, annoyance now creeping onto her face.

"I didn't leave you," he muttered, not sure why it came out so low and intense. "Before Potter...I just wanted to see my mother, Granger."

Hermione tugged her arms away from Malfoy, watching as his silvery gaze turned hurt and slightly angered as she lowered herself back down on her knees and the back of her legs. "Don't explain yourself to me," she told him. "I would've done the same thing." And then she turned away from him for a moment, taking the last bottle of something she had brought in with her.

"You're not upset?"

"I was scared, yes," she replied sincerely, looking back up at him. "I thought the worse, Malfoy, I can't pretend otherwise. But then I thought about my own parents. If they had been on the opposite end of where I was, I would cross it without a look back. I can't judge you for that." She then smiled at him softly, leaning back up towards him. "Besides...you gave Harry your wand. You helped the outcome of this war, Malfoy."

The blonde boy made a displeased face. "He better still have it. It was a loan, not a bloody gift."

Hermione rolled her eyes as she took off the stopper of the potion vial. "A brat as always," she mumbled, lifting the potion to him. "Take this."

At the herby and iron smell that came off of it, he asked, "What is it?"

"It's erm...a Blood-Replenishing Potion I made a few weeks ago." She was suddenly cautious, her walls of protection going up immediately as she remembered the fight she had with Malfoy what seemed like ages ago. They had fought over this particular potion because he didn't want to have anything in his possession that had her 'dirty' blood in it.

Noticing her worry, it was Draco's turn to roll his eyes. He yanked the vial from her, swinging back the nasty tasting potion and swallowing it completely with nothing but a grimace. "Honestly, Granger," he drawled in an annoyed voice. "I tell you that I _love _you not a few measly hours ago, and you still think that your blood status is—"

The rest was rudely cut off when Hermione launched herself forward, knocking him flat on his back. And if she was so rudely devouring his mouth with her own, who the hell was he to stop her? He didn't have any manners of his own, mind you; that's why he gripped her waist like she was a lifeline and held on tightly and selfishly.

There was still this insane amount of passion, of need, of utter longing as she shoved her fingers into his hair, tugging at his roots, and he pulled her body more into his, flushing her close to feel her body heat. Neither of them knew why what they felt was so intense, but it wasn't something either of them cared to figure out. Whatever it was, however consuming it was, it was fucking delicious and addicting.

Not liking the fact that she seemed to be the one in control, with her being on him and all, Draco gripped her tight and raised himself up on his feet. She clung onto him, but he heard her give out a groan of protest. But seeing as he never really was someone to let a Gryffindor get away with ordering him around, even if he had let her do just that some rare times, he placed her back onto the surface of a miraculously working desk.

Feeling like a right lucky git that the desk was sturdy, even after most of the classroom had been destroyed, he removed his arms from around her and used his hands to caress her now. While she was still tugging at the roots of his hair, surprising him by the intensity she was doing it with, he let one of his hands slip inside her torn shirt while the other went to the back of her neck. He felt the flesh of her flat abdomen contract, excitement passing through her and slapping against him full speed as she didn't protest by his daring move.

His fingertips had traced patterns on her stomach, but after a few seconds he went up. He had forbidden himself to look or feel Granger's body when he'd been posing as her, seeing as it was the most courteous thing to do, but at the moment he reached her breasts, he really wished he would have. They were glorious.

Moving her lips from his mouth, taking the moment to gasp as he knead, she placed them on his neck. And right as she had sunk her teeth into the tender flesh of his throat, while he let out a growl and knead some more, there was a loud clearing of the throat; making them both halt, eyes wide open.

"You've just won a war, but you are still hormonal teenagers." Narrowing blue eyes at the two students tangled around each other, Aphrodite Venus crossed her arms over her chest. "The only strong side-effect of the curse, so I really can't blame you."

Hermione shoved Malfoy away from her, sitting upright instantly. She didn't bother to flush in embarrassment as she frowned at the woman. "Curse?"

"It's more of an enchantment, really," Ms. Venus waved it off casually. "Be thankful that's the only strong side-effect. Before I perfected it, both of the participants were especially hairy. It would take almost a month until they stopped looking like half-turned beasts."

Swinging her legs off of the desk, making sure she didn't kick Malfoy, who had to take a seat on the bench and cover his lap, Hermione still looked at the older woman with complete dislike. "_You_ cursed us?" She asked, her voice appalled. "You made us switch bodies? Are you insane?"

"Watch your tone, Miss Granger," the elderly and refined witch told the girl, a frown appearing and making more age-lines appear at the corners of her eyes. "And, yes, I did choose you two for the Body-Switch enchantment."

Knowing that she should've been more respectful, Hermione couldn't bring herself to be so. Maybe she had been stuck as Malfoy for too long, but she was extremely angry. "Do you know the danger you put us in?" She half shouted. "Do you even realize how many times Malfoy and I were close to death because of this? You sent me to a house full of Death Eaters and you had him running around as a Muggle-born!"

"You were perfectly safe," Ms. Venus responded, completely collected. "Professor Snape was watching you, Miss Granger. He was under strict orders not to let anything happen to you. And as for Mister Malfoy, well...Mister Potter was aware of your situation a few days before today."

"Potter knew?" Malfoy made himself known now, his uplifting problem sedated. "And he didn't curse me to my death?" He scoffed, frowning now. "I suppose we're even then."

Hermione threw the blonde boy a disapproving glare before turning back to the Ministry Official Professor McGonagall had let into Hogwarts at the beginning of term. "Why would Snape help? He betrayed the Order! Surely he wanted me—" She stopped herself, her brain working fast. "...But that doesn't make sense," she mumbled. "He killed Dumbledore. Why would he bother?"

"There's a lot of things you aren't aware of yet, Miss Granger," the woman spoke once more, halting the girl before her brilliant head decided to come up with a hypothesis. "I'm sure Mister Potter will explain everything to you when the moment is right. But for now, you should only know two things. One, I was brought here from Greece at Dumbledore's request last year. He knew he was going to die, and he wanted a favor from me, an old friend."

Hermione raised her brow again, looking puzzled for a few moments.

"Are you aware of the Greek Gods and Goddesses, Miss Granger?"

The brunette dropped her jaw. "Aphrodite, Goddess of Love—wait, you're telling me that you're a Greek Goddess? That all that muggle mythology is true?"

"Surely you can't be so closed-minded, Miss Granger. There's more to the world than what you see and what's printed as true on books."

Malfoy let out a mocking chuckle, not being able to contain himself. And after he did so, trying to pass it off as he coughed, Hermione swatted him roughly on the chest.

Aphrodite Venus shook her head; that was evidence enough of the type of relationship that awaited both students with each other. "Dumbledore hoped there was a chance for several people to get a second chance through all of this. He believed that all dark barriers could be broken down, and that love was the powerful tool to do so," she spoke, calling the attention back to her before the two teenagers could distract themselves. "It was a risky choice selecting you two, but I_ saw _potential. It could've been deadly, that was very clear as day; seeing how much you two infuriated one another. However, I've always believed that there is a fine line from hate to love."

She smiled at the students, the action looking a little strange from her. Even though they never interacted much with her, the students of Hogwarts figured she would be a McGonagall; always serious and strict. "And that's the final thing you should know—the love that came from this." That smile on the woman's face was gone now. "There will be obstacles to come, both of you are smart enough to figure that out, but I promise you that after walking in each others' shoes, a link like that is unbreakable. So the question for you to ponder over now is this: are you willing to fight another battle to keep one another?"

Hermione and Draco turned towards each other instantly, almost in slow motion as the woman turned on her heels and headed to leave. But as both once-enemies stared at one another, wonder and pondering over the woman's last words, Aphrodite Venus already knew the answer and the outcome.

**X**

A few hours had passed since the battle, since Harry Potter, the glorious Savior of the World, beat and destroyed Lord Voldemort for the last time and definitely for good. People had begun to gather their dead, moving the bodies to decent locations until someone decided that it was time to face the evidence of their loss rather than their memory. People huddled together in the destroyed Great Hall, all wanting to be together with their fellow comrades and friends; grateful for the breaths they were taking.

They had survived the war.

It was only a matter of time before someone decided to take the initiative to start making choices again, especially since there no longer was a Headmaster at Hogwarts or a honorable Minister of Magic. It was evident to all of them that no one really knew how to go about this, the hours after the greatest war came to its conclusive end, and no one wanted to be the one to turn and ask Harry Potter to make the choices now. He had gone through enough, _everyone _had gone through enough; so they waited.

"...When do you think they'll come for us?" Finally having enough of the silence looming in his side of the corner, a crumbled corner where his house-table used to be, Theodore Nott flashed his eyes towards the direction of a friend. "I was thinking about running, but then I figured they'd catch me...and I really don't need to add that to my record, do I?"

Sitting on a barely manageable bench, Blaise didn't look up to face his housemate immediately. There was a girl with her head on his lap, resting gently, eyes closed and oblivious to anything else at the moment as she laid on the bench. He kept stroking her thick, black hair; smoothing out the knots and moving the strands away from her face. She was all scratched up, that beautiful and silky dark skin of her face marked with dried blood, wounds, and forming scars that would need the help of magic to go away.

Running his fingertips carefully on her cheek for another second, Zabini finally turned to look at his fellow Slytherin. "You'll be alright," he said, not particularly sounding reassuring. "You don't have the dark mark, Nott. They won't come after you."

Narrowing his eyes at his friend, slowly moving from glaring at his hold on the witch on his lap, he turned them to his covered left arm. "You have the dark mark," he stated grudgingly, "but you've never touched a soul. You've never tortured anyone, never hexed someone who was tied up or defenseless. They said you were weak, Zabini, and it was a wonder to everyone how you managed to pass under the Dark Lord's radar. But you did; you were never forced to attack."

Blaise narrowed his colored eyes back at his friend. Yes, he never was forced to play target practice with the people held prisoners in Malfoy Manor, for who knows what damn reason; yes, he was weak and incapable to mutilate someone on a lone order, but that had cost him his mother. They had murdered his mother for his incompetence, for his lack of Death Eater morale; he had paid the price.

"You may have the dark mark, Zabini," Nott continued, straightening up on the pile of rubble he was sitting on, "but I've done things to land me in Azkaban without one."

"Both of you will be going to Azkaban—"Carefully approaching the corner where two of her housemates sat, Daphne Greengrass appeared with a very tired expression that was equally as blotched and bruised. "All of the people we know will be going to Azkaban, actually."

"Charming, Greengrass. Way to boost—"

"But the thing is, only a few of you will come out," the Slytherin girl finished her thought, cutting across Nott and his frowning blue eyes. "We really didn't have a choice, did we? People think that we, those of us raised as fully breed purebloods, had a chance to choose what side we wanted to be in, but that wasn't the case. We only knew what we were taught, family duty and all; nothing more."

Shifting the weight on one leg to another, especially since they were still hurting with the tingles of hexes thrown at her, Daphne only paused for a moment before continuing. "If my mother hadn't been killed like a common animal, my views and place in all of this wouldn't have changed and I would've been in the same spot as all of you. And even though we know good from bad, we're still kids—you're still kids. Neither of you had it easy, and you did what you needed to do at the moment. But now, what's going to keep you out of Azkaban for good is making the adequate choice. Use the fact that you were forced into all of this, but stay on the right path to survive now because everything's about to change."

Zabini and Nott glanced at one another for a quick second, before even acknowledging the girl before them with a proper response. They had avoided her from the start of Seventh Year, even most of Sixth Year as well; though both with different reasons. The Greengrass family, among all the purebloods, were cast away and labeled as Blood Traitors and the children of the other families were forced and encouraged to keep their distance from the two girls. No one in Slytherin paid any attention to them, except for only a few loyal girls who had stuck by Astoria Greengrass' side—but none had remained loyal to Daphne.

Nott had been great friends with her. He had been a charming boy with great jokes to tell and that had intense study sessions with her whenever they'd been paired to do work together. They had known each other since they were children, and though he could always be a straight, crude git when he wanted, he was still her friend and treated her as such. But when word had gotten out that the Greengrass family had fallen from the Dark Lord's graces, he had treated her like a part of the background and avoided her at all costs.

Things with Blaise and her had been different than with the others who she had called friends. Though they had officially met at the start of Third Year, Zabini had a way to charm and crawl his way into a girl's heart. He was reserved, funny at times, polite, handsome, and tender when he wanted to be, and Daphne had gotten her view of that. They started dating at the end of Fourth Year, proceeding onto a very bubbly summer romance, and then to a more serious relationship during Fifth Year. Then it had all changed; Daphne's mother was dead and she withdrew from everyone, the same way they were withdrawing from her. Though they had never said those three intimate words to one another, their affection came to a pause and Zabini was forced to step away from her and she was all but inclined to let him.

And though Daphne, before everything started going downhill, could be a foul bitch when she wanted, behavior and attitude that had been learned and modeled after by Pansy Parkinson and other Slytherin girls, she had a secret heart of gold buried in a block of ice. And though they had rejected her like the way they rejected everyone else they deemed unworthy, Daphne had always kept true to one fact: Slytherins watch out for their own.

"So, how's Astoria?" Nott was the first to speak, clearing his throat from the silence. "I saw her get hexed by Yaxley when she tried helping Finnegan earlier."

Daphne was about to answer, but her answer was momentarily halted when Nott rose from his seat and walked towards her, taking her arm in a soft grip. Helping her walk, obviously aware that she was in pain just standing, he sat her down on his pile of rubble like a gentleman.

"She's with him, Finnegan," the blonde girl replied after she crushed her surprise. "She's having a bit of a snack with Finnegan and Padma Patil, actually. Seems like those D.A. members stick by your side when you help them out in battle."

"And were you sharing a snack with Dean Thomas, Greengrass?" Nott asked, smirking at her as he remembered the dark-skinned Gryffindor hanging about her like he was supposed to be doing so.

Daphne rolled her eyes at him. "Not really your concern, is it?"

"Just curious to know when you became friends with him, that's all," Theo added. "Or maybe he's undercover, waiting to throw you into Azkaban along with us."

The Slytherin witch glared.

"He fancies her—" But before the blonde girl could retaliate and the odd moment of an attempt of rekindled friendship could be ruined, the girl on Blaise's lap stirred and her brown eyes came to life. "I don't really know how it happened, not that he would tell me anyway, but I know he does. For a while we all suspected he was being all mopy for Luna, but no...it was for her. You're the reason why his heart is broken."

Dropping her glare, Daphne turned and eyed the Gryffindor Patil twin as the latter did the same. There was a tint to her pale cheeks, something that did not go unnoticed by the three people around her as she tried to remain firm and Slytherin-like. "I'm not going to tell you anything, Patil, so mind as well get that curious look off your face."

Parvati grinned at the witch as she pulled herself out of Blaise's lap and adjusted herself next to him on the worn bench. "I'm not telling you too, I'm just gossiping," she said. "As such, I think you should know that he thinks you won't consider him good enough. I don't know exactly what's the story behind you two, but one thing's certain, Greengrass...He's more than you deserve."

Putting a hand on the Patil's knee, gently rubbing the skin that was exposed from her ripped tights, Blaise smiled calmly at her; a smile that Daphne was trying to hide as well. It was like they had reached an understanding in that moment, something that Nott was not understanding at all.

"Oh, for Salazar's sake," Theo groaned, looking thoroughly disgusted and upset. "Do you fancy Thomas, Daphne?" But before the blonde girl could answer, he threw his arms up in the air. "What is with Slytherins turning into Gryffindor lovers? First, Zabini and Patil; now you and Thomas? Next thing you know, Astoria will be dating Finnegan and Malfoy will marry the Bookworm!"

And before anything else could be said, the clearly upset Slytherin turned on his heels and marched away from the corner he'd been in for the past few hours. He hadn't a clue what was going on with his housemates, or with anything at this point, really, but he needed to find a distraction. So as he walked away, leaving Blaise in the awkward current-girlfriend-talks-to-the-old-girlfriend scenario, he decided to go look for Pansy. Maybe she would finally let go of her rubbish behavior and she'd be willing to go snog in some random broomstick closet.

Having had watched Nott storm away, there was a pair of bright, shining eyes that noticed him shove by a few people; not noticing that two of them had been the Slytherin Prince and the Gryffindor Princess.

Those green eyes watched as Draco Malfoy stood tall and poised, a guarded look to his silver eyes, and that Hermione Granger walked along with him, almost pressed to his side, gravitating towards him, her eyes swimming with worry but determination.

Harry Potter put on a dim smile as he pulled away from the small group of Weasleys and friends gathered around him, heading towards his friend as he came to a rapid observation—Hermione was back to occupying her rightful body.

"You're back," was the first thing he said when he was close enough to his best friend, a smile tugging at his lips. And without waiting for a response, he did something very Hermione-like; he launched himself forward and pulled her into the tightest embrace he had yet to give in his lifetime.

Letting out a held in breath that she had been containing when she saw the famous bespectacled boy walking his way towards her, she also let out all the worry and fear she had inside of her as she squeezed him back. He smelled awful, like sweat, dust and blood, but she found that he felt like warmth and affection. He was a part of her; her brother, if not by blood then definitely my soul and heart.

She sniffled a little, not being able to contain the nostalgia and the other sentiments she felt. She had been missing him greatly since the first day she'd been caught in Malfoy's body; now he was right there. Before, she hadn't any clue when she was going to be able to walk in her own shoes again, she had been desperate to help him with the hunt for the last Horcruxes, to be there for him, to tell him that everything was going to be alright—but she had never gotten the chance. And when she had heard You-Know-Who scream with great pleasure that Harry was dead, she felt like a piece of her had gone with him. It was torture to know she'd never gotten the chance to say a proper goodbye.

And just as Malfoy was frowning with great dislike at the very intimate way the two Gryffindors embraced one another, just as he was about to yank the jumped up Bookworm away from the Boy Wonder, the latter did it for him.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry whispered to his friend.

"What for?" She asked immediately after, furrowing her brows.

Harry flashed his eyes at his childhood nemesis, narrowing his eyes at him with a bit of a frown as the blonde boy was glaring intently at him right back. The Chosen One rolled his green eyes next, and looked back at his best friend. "Well, you know..."

"That wasn't your fault," Hermione replied in a serious tone. "Malfoy and I would've never been caught in that situation if we hadn't hated each other with a passion. Apparently our immense dislike for one another was perfect for Dumbledore's final glory plan of redemption and second chances."

The dark-haired boy was frowning again, he hadn't missed the past-tense in which she regarded her very comfortable hate towards the bouncing ferret. And as silence seemed like it was going to grip them he said, "Ron knows. I told him."

And it seemed like the Boy-Who-Lived had involuntarily summoned the missing piece of the Golden Trio the moment he had mentioned his name. The redhead approached slowly, hands inside his torn pockets, and a bubble of different emotions flashing in his red-rimmed eyes. He was equally as bruised and tattered like everyone else, dried blood all over his clothing and some slices on his visible skin, but he hadn't looked in complete pain as he stopped before his friends and his enemy.

Hermione stood rigid, swallowing a knot in her throat. She had missed him too. She had missed Ron as desperately as the way she had Harry. "Ron...I, erm..."

"Don't," he interrupted her, shaking his head at the already-forming apology. "Harry told me what happened. I was a second away from cursing Malfoy to his death," a snort was heard in the background that did not belong to any of the Golden Trio, but they all ignored it, "but then I remembered you were there, outside of the Hospital Wing, posing as Malfoy, and...you were going mad with wanting to see him..."

There was a pause, Ron and Hermione looked deeply at each other as Harry and Malfoy felt the awkward tension immediately. Malfoy found himself contracting his fist, trying to ignore the anger and the twitching of his fingers to reach for his Bookworm and tug her away from the lingering eyes of the Weasel. Harry, on the other hand, looked like he was about to get hit in the face with a beater's bat.

"Tell me it's not because I left, 'Mione," the redheaded boy spoke, ending the silence with a whisper. "Tell me what you and I...what we felt...Tell me I didn't ruin that when I left you and Harry when we were on the run. Tell me you didn't grow disappointed in me and that's why you stopped...why you..."

Hermione took in a deep inhale, but she held the air inside her mouth for a few seconds. She didn't know how to reply to Ron. She didn't know how to tell him when she had stopped feeling something for him, when he had just gone back from being the tingles of butterflies in her stomach to her annoying best friend. Maybe it _had _been when he'd left; after she had practically begged and begged for him to come back but he disapparated anyway. Maybe it was then, but maybe she had stopped feeling at all after the torture Bellatrix Lestrange gave her.

Maybe Malfoy had woken up a side to her that she'd hidden due to the pressures of war.

She exhaled. "I don't care about that anymore, Ronald," she spoke. "What I feel for Malfoy, that's—"

"How do you know he won't hurt you?" Ron interrupted, his freckled complexion showing his anger and confusion. "How do you know you'll be happy with him, Hermione?"

"Listen, Weasley, you—"

Putting a calming palm on Malfoy's arm, holding him back, the brunette looked straight at her two best friends without any confusion, questioning, or worry. This was it. "I don't," she said to them. "I don't know if he'll hurt me or not, or if I'll end up hurting him, really. I don't know what the future has planned for us, but all I really do know is I want to find out. And I want him right there next to me."

The redheaded boy opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione was not through yet. "I don't expect you two to befriend Malfoy, but I expect you to offer the same support I've given you all these years. And if you can't find it in yourselves to do that for me, well..."

"We'll be right there with you, 'Mione," Harry was the one to answer, a tired smile on his face flashing towards his best friend before it was flashed towards the other. "Won't we, Ron?"

Ron frowned at his best friend, and just as he'd turned to look at Hermione, having to find a way to suck up his pride and just let her go, just let her be with that worthless blonde fucker he detested, he caught sight of a few people entering the Great Hall.

"Someone's looking for you," he said, pointing a finger towards the grand doors, and nothing more.

Hermione and Draco turned; the people were Mister and Mrs. Malfoy, accompanied by Kingsley Shacklebolt and Augusta Longbottom. They talked in hushed whispers, but Kingsley and Mrs. Longbottom looked thoroughly serious as the two blondes remained cold and silent.

About to walk away as soon as he saw Shacklebolt say one last thing to his parents before leading Longbottom's grandmother away, Malfoy turned back and frowned at the lack of movement Hermione had given. "Come," he said to her, extending his hand out to her.

"I don't think—"

"Oh, shut it, then," Draco hissed at her, grabbing one of her hands and leading her towards the grand doors. If she had faced her fears, confronting Potter and the Weasel, then he could face his own. Just because he had stood in silence as she had her touchy moment with her friends did not mean he didn't know the great effort and sacrifice she was making by doing so. Just because he was an insensitive person did not mean that he did not appreciate the gesture she was making for them; for _him_.

He had already chosen a side that did not include her without knowing it the moment he had gone towards his mother when the Dark Lord had claimed his alleged victory, and he had felt the immense and dire need to go back to her the moment he had. He didn't have a clue how Granger snuck her way so deep into him, but he didn't want to let her go. He didn't want to have to choose a side again, and definitely not one where she was not included.

He wanted her. And Malfoys always got what they wanted.

Blinking blue eyes found the coming figures of two teenagers; not missing their clasped hands. "Draco," Narcissa Malfoy called, raising a blonde brow at the direction of her son and the girl.

"Mother," the boy politely answered, looking at his mother for a quick moment before turning to the suddenly rigid man next to her.

Both elder Malfoys stared at their son with cautioned, cold eyes. They stood tall, proud, and almighty; just the way they were used to posing in front of crowds. Though their usual expensive robes were ripped, their smooth and clean skin dirty and slightly wounded, and their usually silky blonde hair knotted, they still radiated aloofness and poise.

They were both confused, staring at the intertwined fingers the two teenagers had with disdain, with a little skepticism, and maybe with what appeared to be anger.

Narcissa zeroed her vision at her son, and any comment she'd been ready to say was halted when she noticed the clear dry patches of Murtlap Essence on his face; covering his wounds and healing them. She blinked down, scanning him, and she saw the same yellowish paste on various locations on her son's skin. And as she did, as she inspected him, she noticed the healthier glow he was giving underneath all that dirt and dried blood. Last time she had seen him he had looked like death..

Moving her cold eyes from her precious son, Mrs. Malfoy glanced at the girl next to him. She still bore the same wounds she had when she had seen her running after her son, fighting courageously against those she called enemies and threats. Her hands were still sliced, her face was still collecting blood in several spots, and her lip was still busted. She was bruised and looked completely exhausted, but she had put herself on hold for Draco. The girl had healed Mrs. Malfoy's son before even doing it for herself or anyone else.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" Assuming that the first person either of his parents would talk to would be him, Draco was wrong when his father directed his question towards Hermione. "Do you even know what you are getting yourself into, Miss Granger? Because I honestly believe you don't."

Hermione swallowed her nervousness and pulled out her Gryffindor-card. "I honestly believe you don't know me, Mister Malfoy," she tried to keep her manners, but she was sure she sounded as insulting as she intended to be secretly. "I've never made a wrong choice in my life, and this is definitely not one of them."

"That's a child's answer," Lucius Malfoy sneered at the girl, narrowing his piercing silver eyes at her. "You do know what awaits, don't you? He'll be taken into the Ministry's custody. He'll be incarcerated. Trials await, Miss Granger; legal disputes until it is proven that my son was forced into all of this. Rejection and hatred also wait for him once this little break ends. Your..situation has yet to see the real world, Miss Granger. So, yes, you are making the wrong choice."

"My _relationship _with her has already seen reality, Father," Draco spoke, cutting across anything the brunette girl could conjure up in that brilliant head of hers. "You don't know what she and I've been through, what we experienced. We've seen the opposing sides of the war, we've seen the consequences of our actions and...I'm keeping her."

Mister Malfoy still looked calmly enraged. "Will she keep you in the long run, Draco?"

At the sneering tone in the Death Eater's voice, Hermione felt more dislike for the man seep into her as she frowned at him. "I don't need anyone's approval to be with him; and definitely not yours, Mister Malfoy, or any of the others in your circle. Regardless of what you think, I am staying with him. I will be there through the trials and his defense. _I _will keep him out of Azkaban."

As Hermione took a breath, pausing as her cheeks lit up with a frustrated flush, Draco decided to speak one more time. She had done her share of standing up to those she loved; it was his turn.

"I don't need your approval," he said in a low voice. "I've lost a lot because of you two, because of all this bloody mess, and...and Granger won't be one of them." He stared at his father determinedly, not intimidated or stirred one bit by the frown creasing the older man's forehead. "I'm not an idiot. I know things won't be easy, we did just end a war where I was on the wrong end of, but I want her. I won't let her go."

Lucius tightened his lips into a line for a moment. There were some things he needed to clear up with his son, but he knew that this wasn't the place or time for it. He was a cold man, yes, but his family was the most important thing to him. It always had been. He knew where an apology was do, where he needed to ask for forgiveness, and not just from Draco, but his wife as well. He had done things because he thought it was in his family's best interest; because that's what was taught to him, what went back generations before him.

"I fought my way to get to you, Draco," the man said to his son seriously. "Your mother and I wanted to get to you to make sure you were alive, to protect you. I may have implicated the family in all of this, the worst mistake of my life, but I would do it all over again if I needed to protect you."

"You didn't protect Mother and I," Draco replied in the same grave tone. "You put her in danger, and you allowed for them to punish me for your mistakes." He stopped for a moment, clearing his throat from all showing emotions. "I did things that I had no control over; that put my life at risk and others' as well. That's not protecting."

Though he paused again, his father was not done talking about this. "And you think being with the Mud—Muggle-Born is going to change all of that? Do you honestly believe you'll accomplish anything?"

"This isn't about accomplishing anything," the blonde boy hissed. "It's about me loving her. If that doesn't fucking change anything, I don't know what will. She's the only good thing I've had throughout all this war. And she's the only thing to make me want to change."

Lucius scoffed loudly. "Love, Draco? You don't know anything about being in love!"

Before there could be any more discussion between the two men in her life, Narcissa's pale complexion pulled on a deadly expression. "_Enough_," she hissed at them. She caught their immediate attention with her shrill tone. "Draco," she turned to her child, "you can't expect us to be accepting of this immediately. How you and Miss Granger came to be an item is still a mystery, and you owe us that explanation. That being said, remember your background and remember ours. Accepting her won't be easy—" Her son frowned at her and she added, "but perhaps not impossible."

With that directed to her son, she turned to her husband. "And you, Lucius, don't have a right to stop him from anything. We've done enough to our son; refusing to support him won't be another thing added to the list. We fought for _him _today, remember that." She gave the man her most lethal look. "Though it's not what we had planned for him from the moment he was born, him being with someone who makes him happy is. I fought to get to my son, vowing that if he was safe from harm I'd make it right. As should you, Lucius. We owe him that much."

And finally, Mrs. Malfoy turned her stony stare towards the brunette. "You care about him," she said, remembering the simple act of healing the girl had done on her son's wounds before her own. "I don't know to what lengths, Miss Granger, but I'm sure we're going to find out, aren't we?"

Holding the woman's stare with a firm one of hers, Hermione nodded solemnly at her.

Squeezing her hand, Draco inclined his head at his parents casually, and then proceeded to lead his Gryffindor Princess away from them. "So, what now?"

"Oh, I see Blaise. We should talk to him," Hermione responded, as she squinted through the crowd in the Great Hall and spotted the dark-skinned Slytherin with Parvati not that far. "I've been itching to tell him I was in your body all this time."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I meant, once I'm free from Azkaban and all that rubbish, what do you want to do?"

"Go to Australia," she said immediately. She glanced up at him, peering up from her lashes. "My parents are there."

He nodded once, smiling slightly.

"And you?"

"I've got a family tree to amend," he said seriously. "Dora had a son, did she not? I bet the kid could use a cousin or something."

Stopping immediately on her tracks, a few steps away from Zabini and Parvati, Hermione let a complete overwhelming look to take up residence on her face. Her big, brown eyes filled with warmth, affection, love, and amazement. Tears prickled her eyes, for the death of Tonks and Remus, but also because the intention that slipped out of Draco's mouth was sincere, new, and selfless.

He was changing, wasn't he?

From a distance, Ron Weasley stared at the two with arms crossed and many emotions passing through him. And as he did so, he was slightly distracted as he felt someone stand next to him. An aura of complete disbelief and irritation bouncing out from that person nudged him, making him turn. To his annoyance, he found himself in the company of a Slytherin.

"This can't be bloody happening," Pansy groaned, looking outraged at her housemate and the Gryffindor Princess ahead. "Oh, for Salazar's sake! It's the _Bookworm_! What's so fascinating about her?"

Ron glared, but felt a twinge of amusement at Parkinson's clear anger. "Come off it, Parkinson. It's not like you and Ferret Boy were together."

"And you and the Beaver were?" The Slytherin witch retaliated, glaring right back at the redhead. "Whatever...It's not like they'll last, right?"

Ron sighed, uncrossing his arms. "Yeah. I doubt they will."

Pansy shook her head in more disbelief, but tried not to let her wounded pride be seen. Even though she said that, she knew she was completely wrong. If there was one certainly good thing about the Malfoys, it was their unquestionable love and loyalty to those they called their own. And much to Pansy's disdain, Draco had claimed Granger as his.

Letting silence link him and the witch, Ron glanced back towards Malfoy and Hermione the moment their lips met. Malfoy had his hands possessively on Hermione's waist, pulling her into him, and she had her arms wrapped around his neck with the same possessiveness he'd been claiming her with. But as quickly as he'd seen that, both of them pulled away from one another. Though Ron couldn't necessarily hear what Malfoy said from the distance he was in, he saw the Ferret's lips mouth three little words with a powerful meaning he doubted Malfoy had ever felt before.

He loved her. And by the pink flush on her cheeks, the glitter in her brown eyes, Ron knew she loved him too. And even though he had agreed with Parkinson out of spite, jealousy, and a bit of sadness, Ron knew that when given the chance to love Hermione, no one ever stopped. She stayed in you forever.

"Hey, Weasley," poking the Gryffindor with a sharp nail, Pansy brought him back to the now. "Seeing as we both are terribly humiliated by this current, unholy event, do you fancy a walk? I know a fabulous broomstick closest we can express our rage in without appearing pathetic to the crowd."

The dark-haired witch extended a hand to him, and though his first instinct was to slap it away and tell her to piss off, Ron surprised himself by actually taking it.

Pansy smirked. "Just this once, alright, Weasley?"

Ron rolled his eyes again, but let the Slytherin girl lead him out of the Great Hall. And as they did so, neither of them noticed Draco and Hermione kissing once more, or Parvati's giant expression of excitement and surprise, or Zabini's knowing, but annoyed smirk.

People might not think that the Slytherin Prince and the Gryffindor Golden Girl could last in a relationship, but both were always up for proving people wrong and accepting challenges. After all, if they managed to find love during war, they wouldn't hesitate to battle it out against the world to keep it. This was only just the beginning, but they will all get to see their love and need for one another leave a trail behind them; like a wildfire gone haywire and consuming everything.

**The End.**

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><p><strong>AN: Hey, mah peeps!(:<strong>

**I know I've taken AGES to upload this, and frankly, it's been such a hassle. Usually, whenever I was writing a chapter for this, the story just flowed naturally, but ending it was hard. I started and restarted this last chapter so many times. I was going in all different directions, but somehow I ended with this. It seems just about right.  
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**Anyway, I think I'll be uploading an epilogue soon, so be waiting for that.  
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**All in all, THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading! It's been a pleasure reading your reviews. You all are so damn awesome! :D  
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